


What Is Done in the Night Appears in the Day

by TheFullmidgetAlchemist



Series: That Random Victorian AU No One Asked For [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AND THATS WHERE I STOP TAGGING, DIS JEANMARCO FIC, F/F, F/M, Fluff, I Love You, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, OH YEH DIS GON BE FUNNY, Sparkles, a bit more than kiss i guess, and my spelling isnt THAT BAD GUYS HA, and stuff, ha, if you havent realised yet, kiss, ok now SIRIUSLY, posh/victorian au, thanks sorta-out-there for inspiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFullmidgetAlchemist/pseuds/TheFullmidgetAlchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean liked his life as it is.  Uncluttered, without responsibility, free.<br/>But his parents had to think of marriage, didn't they?<br/>But how could he marry the sister, if the brother was so jaw-droppingly hot?</p><p>--Posh/Victorian au inspired by a drawing from tumblr (credits go to sorta-out-there for actually drawing pic)<br/>Hope you like it ^.^</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean almost gets a face-full of horse dung.  
> That's really it basically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is going to be set in Victorian times, but places such as Trost will be used, rather then England and what not. So just think of it as the SNK setting, just in a Victorian age. And without titans, of course.  
> Well, here goes nothing...

SO THIS is what it meant to be free.

Jean felt the cold wind blowing against his face as he flew over meadows, his horse galloping beneath him. The sun beat down on his face, and his clothes flapped around. He was quite sure that his riding skills were nil, and he probably looked ridiculous, but the exhilaration of the ride was too much to stay worrying over these petty things. He knew his mother would be mad at him for ruining his only decent clothes, but then again, she'd shout at him anyway, so he shoved the thought out of his brain quickly before it tainted his happiness. After around thirty minutes of going round in circles, Jean encountered his first problem; how the hell do you stop a horse?

It was, admittedly, the first time he was riding a horse, but he felt incredibly stupid about this failure of knowledge, as if it was a fundamental thing everyone should be able to do. He experimented by digging his heels in the horse's sides, which resulted in an extra spurt of speed that almost threw him completely off, had he not be clinging, white-knuckled, ion the reigns. He then proceeded to shout, plead, and beg the horse to stop, but the horse was on a roll, and it didn't heed his commands. If anything, it sped up. Jean was beginning to worry that it'll only stop when it ran out of energy when he began, absent-mindedly, to stroke the horse's black, silky mane. As soon as his fingers grazed through the crop of hair, the horse immediately slowed down. This sudden deceleration destabilised Jean so much that he finally flew off the horse, curved around in a wobbly arc, and crashed down in the grass.

He landed awkwardly on his face. Oh, he thought wryly, this is going to improve my looks so much.

He got up slowly, examining his body for any broken bones. His nose leaked bloodily, and his arms and face stung. His good shirt was smudged with mud and grass was sticking out of his hair, but nothing seemed too broken. He suddenly remembered the horse. He turned round and backed up slightly, having almost bumped straight into the horse's rear end. He blinked rapidly, thanking God that he hadn't stuck his face in an arsefull of shit. That would have definitely made his day. He felt sudden fondness for the horse. It was a present from his father for his name-day. He was sixteen now, and it was about time to start looking for a wife. His mother had already began hinting at this, but Jean pretended to ignore her. He enjoyed his freedom. Then, she'd move on to remark about Eren Jaeger's exemplary behaviour, and his recent engagement to Mikasa Ackerman, and Jean couldn't help but roll his eyes even now. Eren this, Eren that. His mother just loved Eren. Sometimes, Jean would think that she'd have preferred Eren as a son. Jean didn't really mind Eren, but they never really got on well. Probably because of the fact that they were both stubborn, proud asses. Also, Mikasa was the only woman whom Jean actually liked, and the fact that Perfect Jaeger managed to snatch her away as well stuck in Jean's throat. Connie had laughed so much he's almost choked himself to death when he'd found out, and had told him, in between coughs, that he should have "grabbed the chance" before it was too late. So much for friends.

His horse was staring at him, chewing thoughtfully at the grass. Jean realised that he hadn't even named him yet. He racked his brains, and thought of how he'd felt in the ride. He'd felt free. Free...from what?  
He had it. He was free from anger, the constant emotion gnawing at his heart. But Anger was a weird name for a horse. So Fury would be suitable, wouldn't it?

The newly christened horse snorted, and Jean couldn't decide if it was in derision or in approval. So much for deep, philosophical thoughts.

He led the black horse by the reigns, his nose aching, his arms showing visible signs of scratches, his shirt muddy, and felt the first flicker of happiness deep down inside. 

This was quickly extinguished by his mother's reaction.

As soon as he was in a three mile radius of the farmhouse where he lived, his mother had already spied him. She came rushing towards him, flailing her hands in the air, and shouting. Jean caught the words "horse", "damn your Father's stupid ideas", "Eren" and "ugh" before he managed to escape into the horse sheds. He led Fury into his stable, next to his father's old horse, Benjamin. He patted his nose and gave him a carrot, assuming that he'd like it. His horse gave him a look of deep disgust, as if implying that he didn't really stick to that stereotype. Jean shrugged, embarrassed, then realised what he'd done. He walked out of the sheds quickly, going over his levels of sanity.

He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, fresh from the well. His mother was there again, cooking, and this time, she didn't shout at him. She turned around and produced a wet flannel, which she proceeded to dab Jean's face with. He protested, but she insisted, saying that he looked like a murderer on the loose. He relented, partly because he was enjoying the momentary attention his mother was giving him. A conversation ensued.

"So, what do you say about marriage, Jean-boy?"  
"Mom, I'm sixteen. I'm not your Jean-boy any more."  
"So you're a Jean-man now?"  
"Just Jean would do."  
"Well, Just Jean, what do you say about marriage?"

Jean rolled his eyes at the answer, and didn't answer back. He was feeling slightly apprehensive about this. He sensed what was coming, but didn't want to admit it just yet. That was when his father entered the room.

His father was a school teacher at the local school, Trost Academy for Higher Education. This meant that there was a steady income of money, which alleviated them from lower class standard, but still deprived them from upper class. This was reflected in their house, which, although was quite large, was largely dishevelled. His mother stopped dabbing at his face and sat down, and an air of expectation filled the room. His father sat down, and smiled at Jean. Jean returned this with a grimace.

"How did the ride go, Jean?"

Jean raised an eyebrow as if to imply his father's possible blindness, and gestured at his wrecked face. His father chuckled, and murmured, "I remember I was in a much more crippled state than you when I rode a horse for the first time," which made Jean rise slightly out of the depths of embarrassment. Then, the smile dried up, and Jean's father became serious. He took a seat at the table, and now Jean was sure of what was up next on the menu of Let's Fuck Up Jean's Life for the day.

"Jean, you're an big man now. We were thinking that it's time for you to get married."

Jean closed his eyes briefly. His heart sank, and he fervently wished that he was still young, still unaware of what duties would soon be bestowed upon him. He sighed, and obediently said, "I know, Father."

His dad looked at his mother, who nodded slightly. "Well, there's someone we've had in mind for a while now. It's the youngest daughter of Master Bodt, Miss Marie Bodt. She has just turned fourteen, and her parents would love to see her get married. Also, they are a wealthy family. It would be good to mingle with them, Jean. What do you say?"

Jean felt a brief flare of anger. How dare they decide his life for him? They had absolutely no right in doing so! He had every right to choose whom he wanted to spend the entirety of his life with! Was love even considered in this equation? 

His mother looked at him, eyes pleading, and perhaps that was the thing that softened his heart. He was so deprived of affection, that one simple thing like this would throw his emotions in disarray. He unscrunched his eyebrows and looked at his father square in the face. "Very well, Father. I will accept your decision, and I will begin courting Miss Bodt."

His father smiled, and Jean was relieved. Even though he was dooming himself for a life of responsibility, he had still managed to gain approval from his father, a hard-won victory. "Very good, Jean. I see you've started acting like a man. Well done."

He rose out of his chair and turned to leave the room. "Oh, I was going to forget. The Bodt family are holding a ball tomorrow, and they've invited all of us to attend. You'll meet Ms Bodt there, of course." He added, as an afterthought, "You might get along with her brother, too. He's a year older than you, but I'm sure you'll like each other. His name's Marco. Marco Bodt." He left the room.

Marco and Marie, huh. Interesting name choices, Jean thought.

At that moment, a knock at the front door jolted him out of his thoughts. "I'll get that," he said, a little too quickly and with far more enthusiasm he'd ever shown in his life. He ran to the door like his life depended on it, and opened it, only to find himself nose-to-nose with Connie Springer, his best friend. "Oi, Jean!" he shouted, far too loudly for such close proximity. Jean glared at him, moving backwards to allow him space to fucking breathe. Connie needed to learn what 'personal space' is. "How are you, man? Boy, I'm starving. Hey Mrs Kirstein, what's cooking?" he yelled in a consecutive stream of words as he barged in past Jean and into the kitchen. Only then did Jean realise that Armin Arlert was there. Armin was a shy kid, and Jean liked him, but he was Eren's best friend, so he didn't really understand why he was currently standing there, highly awkward, his blonde hair sticking up from where he messed it up. "Er...um...hey, Jean," he said

"Armin," Jean aknowledged, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Want to come in?"

Armin shook his head rapidly. "Oh n-no, no, it's fine, I just wanted to give you this."

He handed Jean a letter. At first glance, all Jean could see was beautiful calligraphy. He picked up the words 'Eren' and 'Mikasa', and his heart nosedived. Oh. A wedding invitation. 

Armin must have noticed the murderous look Jean was giving the letter, because he interrupted the one-sided staring game with a nervous, "Eren said he would have loved to bring it himself, but he's a bit sick."

The blatant lie cleared Jean's head, and also his emotions. He'd show Eren who Jean Kirstein was. He smiled, a thin, forced smile, but a smile all the same, and said, "Thanks, Armin. Tell him I'll be there." He paused for dramatic effect. "Tell him I might be bringing my soon-to-be fiancée with me. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

Sure enough, the words had the desired effect on Armin. His eyes widened, and he stuttered out a hasty goodbye before running away. Poor kid, Jean thought. He turned around and shut the door, finding Connie devouring the entire contents of the kitchen. "Oi," Jean said mildly, "I need to eat too."

Connie smirked. Around a mouthful of raw carrots, he managed to say, "Don worr'. Yer waf'll fatten you up."

Jean frowned. "What?"

Connie swallowed, and said again, "I said, Don't worry. Your wife will fatten you up."

He was still laughing when Jean threw the remaining contents of his glass of water at his face.

***

Later that evening, as he lay on his bed, the overwhelming feeling of closure threatened to send him crazy. Such a sudden change to his life was too much to think about at this moment. Was this really what it felt like to grow up? To mature? To become an 'adult'?

He blew out the candle next to his bed, and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, how was it? Hope you liked it :3   
> For updates on when I'll update (such paradox), follow me on tumblr:  
> thefullmidgetalchemist.tumblr.com  
> c:   
> Claire xx


	2. Freckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean realises that he has a freckle fetish. Is that even possible?

Jean woke up feeling sick. It took him a moment to remember why, and when he did, he groaned and covered his head with his pillow, immediately regretting his decision when he almost accidentally suffocated himself. He managed to get out of bed without further injuring himself, miraculous as that may seem.

He staggered out of his room and allowed the noise coming from the kitchen to lead him. His mother was pottering about, cleaning and doing whatever she usually did, but when she saw Jean, she set about making breakfast. Jean sat down heavily, waving off his mother's cheery greeting with a grunt, as he always did. As he was eating, his mother started chattering in a high voice that drove nails in his sleep-cocooned mind. However, one phrase caught his attention.

“....your best suit, Jean, that's what you'll be wearing tonight-”  
“Wait, that hideous excuse you call suit? I'm not wearing that, it's...it's...”

A voice from behind him said, “Flabbergasting?”

Jean turned around, murder in his eyes, to find that Connie had somehow snuck into the kitchen and was now bent-double with laughter, tears pouring from his eyes. “You looked like my auntie Ida while wearing it!”

Jean was seeing red by that time, and the comparison to Ida was a tough blow to his pride. He remembered in choppy bits of memory the last time he'd been forced into that suit- Sasha Braus' name-day. He'd been forced to attend by Connie, because Connie was a spineless coward and wouldn't admit he'd had the hots for Sasha since the first day they'd met. Connie had varied their time there between ogling the unfortunate Sasha, who remained absolutely clueless about the raging love Connie harboured for her, and laughing himself shitless at the sight of Jean. Needless to say, that fond memory would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Connie recovered his breath. Jean waited, with bated breath, to see what his next words would be. “And also,” the other boy added, wiping away tears of mirth, “you smell like my auntie Ida as well-”

Jean launched himself at Connie, knocking him to the floor. His mother was too busy laughing to do much about it, which infuriated him even more. Connie stared up at Jean, still laughing, and Jean smirked menacingly. He wiggled his fingers in front of Connie's face. That stopped the laughter. Connie's eyes widened, and a stream of “No”'s and “I BEG YOU HAVE MERCY”'s followed, but Jean wasn't so easily swayed. And the image of Auntie Ida swayed mesmerisingly in his vision, making him shudder unpleasantly. With that, he launched his attack.

His mother pried him off Connie (with difficult) some five minutes later. Connie was so breathless he couldn't even stand up. His face was bright red, and tears were still trickling out of his eyes. Jean was satisfied. He had avenged himself. He could now continue the day with dignity.

Later that day, having smelled the suit for himself, he confirmed that he really would be smelling like Connie's Auntie Ida by the end of the evening. He might as well wave his dignity (and future wife) good bye. He heaved a sigh and fell back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. He heard his mother walk in, but stayed as he was. The bed groaned a bit as his mother settled down beside him. He looked at her questioningly. She patted her lap. He blinked twice, than decided that he would forget that he was now 16. He crawled into his mother's lap, his face squashed against her, smelling her smell, instantly feeling comforted. She ran her hands through his hair, stroking the worry out, murmuring gently as she did. It really did seem to be working. His heart rate became normal, and the clenching in his stomach decreased. He felt her speak before he heard her. “You might be 16, Jean-boy, but you still are mummy's baby boy huh?”

He flushed, embarrassed, but stayed there. His older sister had never been fond of cuddles herself, but she, like their mother, used to coddle him when he was young. His sister had died three years ago. They said she had killed herself, jumping in the sea at high tides. Jean had never believed them. From that moment on, his mother became distant, but at times, such as right now, his old mother resurfaced. His mother seemed to read his thoughts, because at that moment she said, “Oh, if only Beatrice could see you now...”

She shook herself free from the memories, and said in a false bright voice, “It's almost time, Jean. Let's get you dressed.”

“Mooom, I can dress myself you know...”  
“Nonsense! You'll get yourself tangled in that tie, you definitely will, remember last time, at Sasha's name-day...”

Ida resurfaced in Jean's memories, and he grimaced. Damn Connie.

Ten minutes later, Jean's mother was fussing at the collar of his hideous suit, telling him that he “looked his age” and that he was “so handsome” that every girl in the room would start salivating at the sight of him. He looked at her like she'd gone crazy. “What?” she said, flushing a little. 

“I never expected you to use a word like 'salivating'.”  
“Oh shut up, you!”

They went down to the kitchen together, his mother nattering on about her own past, and how many suitors had tried to win her hand. Jean blocked most of that out, the nervousness beginning to really settle on his stomach. He only realised that his mother had stopped talking when a sudden silence filled the room. He looked up to find her staring at him, concerned.

“Jean-boy...don't worry too much. We...I don't want to pressure you into this. After all, she might not even choose you. The outcome of today's ball isn't vital for our family. It will please your father, but it won't matter if you don't succeed. You'll definitely find a suitable young lady, you're such a handsome young boy...” She sighed, and placed her worn, rough hands on top of his. “Just...enjoy it, tonight. All right?”

He nodded mutely, tears coming to his eyes. He blinked rapidly, and stood up. The sun was starting to dip low in the sky, signalling that it was almost time for the ball to start. “I'd better get a head-start then, yeah?” he said, attempting at bravado and failing miserably. She nodded and stood up, folding him into a rib-cracking hug.

“We'll be there soon, yeah?”  
“Sure. See you there.”

Jean walked out, waited for his mother to disappear from the window, and dashed to the stables.

“Hey buddy,” he said, walking up to Fury. The black horse looked up and grunted. Jean still couldn't figure out if that signalled that he was happy or annoyed at the sight of him. He stroked his broad nose gently, breathing in the smell of hay and horse. He produced an apple, well aware of the stereotypes, but also courageous enough to give it a try. This time, the horse snatched it out of his grasp before Jean could even weigh the odds of him not eating it. Victory at last. 

Distantly, he heard the church bells ring. Oh shit. He was gonna be late. He waved goodbye to Fury, who was too engrossed in the apple to look up. Jean ran up the path and continued running till his breath came out in ragged gasps and his legs burned. He slowed down to a brisk walk, which slowed down to leisurely stroll. He regained his breath, taking in his surroundings. The Bodt manor wasn't far away, but it wasn't in the village, but in the middle of nowhere. The scenery was spectacular, but what struck Jean the most was the sun, and the colours it cast across the sky. Due to his deep reflections, he almost got run over by a cart. He untangled himself out of the bush he'd jumped into to avoid a cracked skull, and glared at the retreating cart. He seemed to recognise the emblem engraved in the wood, but he shrugged it off. He looked slightly further ahead, and stared in disbelief. 

The Bodt manor was in sight, and it was HUGE. As he approached, its hugeness made itself more and more apparent to Jean, and he finally understood why the ball wouldn't be held in the City Hall, but in the house itself. It could've easily housed three balls at the same time. Jean shook his head slowly in disbelief.

He heard the people before he saw them. So. Many. People. The antisocial Jean begged Jean to leave NOW right now panic attack launching itself in three two one LEAVE PLEASE, while the more emotionally stable Jean kept charging resolutely towards the front door, ignoring the piteous pleas of Antisocial Jean. 

However, ten minutes later, when he found himself standing awkwardly in one corner of the room, buffeted by colourful skirts and coat-tails, he'd wished he'd listened to Antisocial Jean. He regretted this decision thoroughly, and was about to cowardly slink, unnoticed, in the garden when he saw her. 

She was, rightfully, the centre of attention. Her brown curly hair was stylishly pinned up, her gown falling elegantly around her, a gold necklace glinting at her pretty neck. What really struck Jean wasn't all this however. It was her eyes, and more importantly, what was beneath her eyes. A glorious constellation of freckles stared at him from across a great distance, and his heart melted. Her eyes where pretty. From what Jean could make out, they were brown. But it was the freckles that sealed his fate. He would do anything for those freckles. He was just plucking enough courage to step forward when his father barged into him. 

“Oh, Jean, we were looking for you. I would like you to meet my boss. Come on.”

Before Jean could utter even the slightest noise, he was being propelled towards the most terrifying man he'd ever seen. His face was as freckled as the pretty girl Jean had been spying on, but these freckles glared at him from a height much greater than his, and the eyes above them where no less frightening. “Jean, this is Sir Bodt, Headmaster of Trost Academy fir Higher Education. Sir, this is our youngest, Jean.”

Mr Bodt managed a tight smile, and offered his hand to Jean, who took it. His fingers where immediately squeezed so tight he was sure his eyes where about to pop out. “Nice to meet you, Jean. This is our youngest, Marie.”

Jean noticed a small, petite girl being propelled in a similar way as he had been towards them, and with a mounting panic realised that it was Ms Pretty Freckles. Marie, because that was her name apparently, was looking down when she came to a stop in front of Jean. As a result, she almost bumped into him. She raised her face towards him, and flushed, lowering it down quickly and curtseying. “Pleasure, sir...?”

Jean realised, a bit late, that she was enquiring about his name. “Oh, uh, Jean. Jean Kirstein,” he stuttered out, awkwardly bowing his head. “Pleasure's all mine, Miss Bodt.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father nod approvingly. A shadow suddenly fell on Jean's face, but he didn't look up immediately, until Mr Bodt resumed his monotone voice by adding, “This is our eldest, Marco.”

Jean finally looked up, and his stomach dropped. The boy introduced was slightly taller than Jean, but Jean didn't immediately register this, because he was too busy taking in the freckles. He was getting lost in a pool of freckles. If his sister looked cute with freckles, than Marco was drop-dead gorgeous. Wait, did he seriously just say that?

His face felt hot, and he realised he'd been staring for a minute too long. He hastily lowered his gaze and offered his hand, but not before he saw the unmistakeable blush colouring Marco's cheeks. Great, now her brother thought he was some kind of weird freckle-pervert or something. Or that he had a freckle fetish. Oh God, did he have a freckle fetish?

Marie cleared her throat politely. Oh yeah, he'd almost forgotten her. Oh brilliant, Jean. Bloody brilliant. His manners finally caught up with him, and he held out a hand. “May I take the next dance, Miss Bodt?”

Marie smiled radiantly, and said, cheekily, “You may. You may also take the next dance too, sir.”

Jean smiled, but groaned miserably on the inside. He really sucked at dancing.

After two dances, Jean was failing miserably at life. This happened a lot. All Marie talked about was gossip and clothes, and Jean, being hopelessly clueless about everything ranging from gossip to clothes, could only nod and smile charmingly at her, hoping that his manly charms would fill in the gaps in his knowledge. It seemed to work, too. When Marie left to begin dancing with her new suitor, she smiled widely, flushed and happy, her eyes bright. Jean thanked God for the brief reprieve from the dancing, and began searching for somewhere where he could rest his stinging feet. He was beginning to contemplate if sitting on the floor would classify him as an unfit suitor when he bumped into someone.

“Oh, sorr-”  
The phrase died on his lips when he saw whom he'd bumped into. Eren Jaeger. Of fucking course. A flashback of the carriage that had almost killed him popped up in his brain, and he realised that it was Jaeger's emblem engraved on it. Oh.

“Why if it isn't Jean,” Eren said with a saintly smile. Mikasa was nowhere to be seen, so Jean felt safe to insult Eren if need be.   
“What are you doing here?” Jean asked, as if addressing a rather unpleasant pile of horse-shit.  
“My father is good friends with Mr Bodt, and he invited us here,” Eren said smugly. “Of course, I would think you're here to try and win Ms Bodt's hand. Needless to say, I think she'll pass you over. You smell of old lady-”

“Why Eren, how are you today?” A giant presence suddenly floated in between the two boys, and Jean recognised the dulcet tones of none other than Marco Bodt. He turned around an smiled pleasantly at Jean, “Why, Mr Kirstein. I didn't realise you two were so...well-acquainted.” Eren gave a snort at that, and Jean glared at him from around Marco. A hand on his shoulder jerked Jean back into reality, and he felt himself being led away. “I'm afraid I must interrupt your pleasant discussion,” Marco continued sarcastically. “I need a word with Jean over here.” 

As Jean was being pulled mercilessly away, Eren mouthed, “You're-so-fuuuucked”. Jean flipped him off, scaring a pair of old ladies who were squashed on a tiny sofa.

After some minutes of being pulled, Jean found himself in the garden. And what a garden. It was huge, as would be expected. Marco let go of Jean then, and turned to face him. “So you're Jean,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I've heard a lot about you from my dad. You see, you're Marie's top suitor.” 

Jean swallowed. Oh. Really.

Marco loomed threateningly over him. His voice grew deep and threatening, at least from Jean's point of view. “Marie is very precious to me - to all of us. If you dare mistreat her, we will prosecute you. We will hang you. We will ride over your dead body with our chariot. Then we will burn you.”

Marco glared at Jean for a while, then burst out laughing. “Your face...is priceless...right now...” Marco managed to heave. His laugh was pleasant and open, wringing a smile from the still bemused Jean. So Marco, apart from looking drop-dead gorgeous (there he goes again), was also sarcastic and funny. Jean swallowed again. Oh God.

And then, Jean began to laugh.

In the end, after quite some time, when they walked back inside, they were still wiping tears from their eyes. Jean had forgotten the last time he'd laughed that hard with anyone. 

The ringing of the grandfather clock alerted him of the time. Oh crap. Late again. His parents had left some time ago. The sun had long since disappeared.  
He turned to leave, and bumped into Marco. Oh yeah, Marco.

“Well, I need to leave now.”  
“Pity. Do stop by sometimes. It gets lonely which just a little sister, you know.”  
“If your facts are true, I'll be hanging out more often than you like, probably,” Jean joked. 

They stood in semi-awkward silence, till Jean raised his hand. “See you around, Marco.”  
“Later, Jean.”

After bidding farewell to Marie and her parents, Jean fled. He ran the entire way, terrified of the shadows. However, his heart sang. He was happy. Actually happy. He looked up at the sky, briefly, and saw the clusters of stars, smiling down at him, and instantly, the myriads of freckles on Marco's cheeks came to him. He wondered why Marco's image popped up before Marie's did, and felt slightly deceitful towards her.

He reached his house after what seemed like an eternity. As he stumbled around in his room, removing the monstrous suit, all he could think about was Marco's laugh, and how his eyes crinkled when he laughed. Then he fell back on his bed and was asleep almost instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm writing this while half asleep, but apparently my inspiration enjoys keeping me up late   
> well i hope you like it  
> Marco is kawaii  
> I'm out
> 
> Claire xxx


	3. Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean is confused as hell  
> Poor baby

Jean woke up, blearily staring at the ceiling. He yawned, trying to get his foggy brain to work. The events of the past month replayed in his head, since the eventful ball and the announcement that happened three days after, the announcement that had started a new chapter in Jean's life. Marie had chosen her suitor; Jean. They were to be married in two years time. 

When the news had come out, he didn't know if he should be happy or sad. He wasn't aware of why he was sad though; wasn't this his life's purpose? Wasn't it worth it, to see his father's proud smile and the tears in his mother's eyes? Even Fury had been impressed, according to Jean's interpretation of his neighs the day after. But deep in his heart, he was sad. And deep in his heart, the only answer as to why he was sad was, confusingly enough, Marie's brother.

Marco.

Jean had tried reasoning with himself. Why did the image of Marco always pop up at this crucial moment? If he were to marry Marie, he'd be able to see him everyday. Was it because he felt that his only other friend would distance himself when they became brothers-in-law? No, that wasn't it. Jean would always shake his head in confusion at this point, and shove the thought at the back of his mind, to mull it over later.

That month had been hectic for Jean. It would be considered quite an easygoing month by your average person, but Jean was qualified in the Art of Laziness, and therefore it had been one hell of a busy month. He'd been out almost every day, visiting Marie (and Marco) three times a week. Marie would always simper sweetly at him, and Jean would obligingly smile back, but he never felt particularly attracted to her. Sure, she was pretty, as Connie made it a point to remind him every time he saw him. But he just never felt it, you know, that thing inside you that made you aware that yes, she's the one. Connie also made it a point to confirm (repeatedly and ceaselessly) that Sasha was his one, with as much conviction as he could muster. This did nothing to alleviate Jean's rising doubts. It could, of course, be the fact that all Marie talked about was her important, hectic life, full of tea parties and appointments and so on and so forth. Jean would always nod and show admiration at her ability to multitask (admittedly something he failed horribly at), but he would always find himself getting more and more annoyed at her. He would always feel a slight lurch of joy when she'd leave for one of her appointments, smiling shyly and fluttering her eyelashes at him as she left. He'd then run to the garden to find Marco. 

Marco would always be there, sometimes doing a spot of gardening, sometimes reading a book, sometimes not even disguising the fact that he was waiting for Jean, simply pacing before the door that led to the garden. Jean didn't know how his friendship with Marco had grown so fast and so strong in so little time. He just knew that whenever he saw that adorably freckled face, and the dorky half-smile that went with it, his heart would beat just a bit faster, something it never did when Marie was around. He did feel guilty about this, but he couldn't control his own innate reactions to people. He waved these feelings off, reasoning that it was because he felt more comfortable with Marco then with his fiancée, which was true. He was sure that, by time, he'd be glad to see Marie. 

Jean blinked himself back in to the present. He was still in bed, aware that he was late for something but not sure exactly what. A distant, frustrated neigh made him shoot out of his bed. Right. Fury needed to be fed.

After supplying a crate-load of apples, the only thing Fury would accept from Jean, he took him out for a ride. After circling the same piece of field some six times in dizzyingly fast circles, Jean decided to ride to the Bodt manor as well. He vaguely remembered Marie mentioning that she liked horses, and he desperately wanted to please her (he was still feeling vaguely guilty). 

The wind cleared his thoughts as he rode. He stared at the patchwork of colours whizzing past him, and a sudden idea popped up in his head. He stroked Fury's mane and the horse slowed down immediately. He slid off and walked into the flowery fields, gently plucking flowers as he went. When he had collected a small bouquet of colour, he sighed happily, satisfied. He led Fury slowly up the path, walking the short way left to Marco and Marie. 

Marie saw him coming from some way off. He could hear her screaming as she ran towards him, and he involuntarily winced. His guilt doubled, and only lessened slightly when she arrived, breathless, her eyes shining as she fawned over the horse. Fury seemed pleased, and he gently rubbed his nose against Marie's hands. She was squealing and laughing, and Jean was reminded of how small Marie actually was. Fourteen, wasn't it? Jean smiled, feeling actual happiness stir in side him as he saw her. Then, his heart leaped inside him as he heard his voice.

Marco was walking towards them, grinning, evidently pleased at his sister's genuine happiness. Jean tried, vainly, to control his breathing. Get a fucking grip, man, he thought to himself, panicking slightly. Marco had reached him and was standing close to him, close enough for Jean to smell his scent. He always smelt of the garden. He spent an unhealthy amount of time in that garden. To his dismay, Jean found himself smiling fondly at the thought. Marco looked at the flowers Jean had hid behind his back, and raised an eyebrow. “Are those for me? I appreciate the thought,” he said jokingly. Jean tried to laugh, and found that his throat had constricted and he could barely breathe. He didn't know what the hell was happening to him, but the thought of bringing flowers to Marco was more pleasing than bringing flowers to Marie, and he wasn't really sure what he should do now, and he was suddenly hyper-aware that he hadn't uttered a single thing yet and his face was slowly going purple and red, purple from lack of oxygen and red because he was blushing and he couldn't fucking breathe--

“Jean. Earth to Jean. Hello?”

Jean opened his mouth, letting in a much-needed breath of oxygen. “I think I'm allergic to pollen,” he concluded weakly, and Marco burst out laughing. Jean couldn't believe that he'd fallen for such a weak excuse, but it was better than him realising that he'd rather bring flowers to him, Marco, his best friend, his future brother-in-law. A guy. 

Christ, he was a mess. 

Suddenly, several unconnected events in his life replayed in his mind, certain guys that he'd liked a bit more than he should, the weak-ass excuses he'd come up with. He realised that he wasn't ashamed of who he was, but rather of the stigma around this behaviour that every person harboured in those days. He vaguely remembered the two men who'd been so harshly criticised for their open relationship that they'd had to leave the town. Not that it stopped them from their relationship. Jean might've envied their courage, just a bit.

And now, of all times, he'd had to like this guy, of all people. Just when his life seemed set to follow the boring, but legal, set of rules that had already been planned for him, just when he was making his parents proud and happy, this happened. And Marco of all people. Marco, perfect Marco, gorgeous Marco. Jean closed his eyes, tuning out the deep voice, trying to tune in to Marie's high-pitched chatter instead , as she ran round the horse, admiring him. Perhaps he could try, deny himself of his reality, like he'd done so many times. He opened them again, just in time to see Marco's concerned expression. 

“Jean, you're worrying me. Are you sure you're not gonna faint on me or something?”

Jean shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Marie spoke up. “I wanna ride the horse.”

Marco focussed his attention on his sister. “No.”

Marie wailed. “But Marcoooooooooo-”

“No.”

She pouted, tears rushing to her eyes. Marco wavered. Marie, used to cajoling her older brother into doing things for her, played up the puppy eyes. Marco huffed, and Marie blinked twice. 

“Fine.”

Jean was amazed at how easily Marie wore down Marco's defences, and as he watched Marco lift a squealing Marie on the horse and instructed her to hold tight or else, his heart filled with warmth. He couldn't have asked for a better second family to be accepted into. Now, all he needed to do was to jump this hurdle. He didn't want to fuck this up as well. He valued Marco's friendship too much. He breathed in, and joined with the laughter as they walked slowly towards the manor together.   
\---   
Later that day, back at his own home, he pondered on the plan he'd come up with. If he could lure Marie away from the Bodt Manor, where Marco wouldn't be able to follow, he'd be able to spend time with just Marie, getting to know only her. If he limited his time with Marco, his evident feelings for him might evaporate. But their were many flaws in his plan. The Bodts wouldn't really allow their youngest daughter to go gallivanting off with him. Goodness knows what he'd do to her. He blushed just thinking of it.

He was just coming up with under plan when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped an inch from the chair, and heard Connie's familiar cackle. Livid, he threw himself at him, using the only weapon he had; his knowledge of all Connie's ticklish spots. He was only satisfied when Connie had lost the ability to breathe correctly. He sat back on his haunches, surveying the damage.

After he regained the ability to speak, which took a while, Connie used every single foul word he knew and threw them at Jean. By the end of the tirade, Jean was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. And finally Connie fell silent.

Jean knew something was up. Connie rarely shut up, and when he did, it was because something was bothering him.

“Hey Con. Is everything--”  
“Sasha is engaged. To Thomas.”  
“Oh.”  
“I can't fucking believe it man. It's...it's...”  
“Heart-wrenching?”

Connie nodded. “Yeah.”

Jean knew exactly how he was feeling. His heart was already feeling the pain and weight of every realisation that had hit him that day.

“I think you should tell her,” he said, suddenly, surprising both of them.

Connie stared at him. “You're joking.”

“No, seriously man. If she's not interested, then you'll be able to move on, and...”  
“Are you nuts or something? Did you forget that her parents forced her into the marriage?”  
“Yes, but--”  
“Her parents creep me out.”  
“Are you trying to defend your own cowardice with that horrible excuse? Anyway, you're more financially well-off than Thomas-”  
“So you want me to buy my way to Sasha's heart?”  
“No. What I meant is, you should tell her. That's it. Her word might change everything. I know her parents. They dote on her.”

Connie's voice was laced with equal measures of hope and despair. “You think it'll work?”

“It might.”

Connie sighed and placed his face in his hands. This was the longest conversation they'd had without cracking up halfway through. When Connie lifted his head up and stared at Jean. His eyes were set and firm. “Thanks, Jean,” he said, sincerely. “I'm glad you're my friend, honestly.” Then, he grinned. “Clearly, your wife has made a better man of you already.”

Jean snorted in a similar fashion to Fury, and the only answer he could think of was, “She's not my wife yet.”

Then Connie left, running towards the Braus manor with more energy then he'd ever done anything in his life. And Jean realised that all he'd said to Connie, was really advice to himself. 

Advice that he couldn't follow.  
He could never follow it,  
because,  
he would never admit to falling in love  
with Marco Bodt.

He fell asleep that night, worried, confused, and angry, and the smell of the Bodt garden fresh in his memory, and with it, Marco's smiling eyes, and his goddamned freckles.

Marco.  
Oh, God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yepp. I know this might be going at a slightly fast pace, but I get impatient, and Jean is so obviously smitten already and I just can't. If you think I'm going too fast, just pop a comment, don't worry, I won't bite. Much. c;  
> I'M KIDDING   
> JESUS  
> BYE
> 
> Claire xx


	4. Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean buys a new suit. No more Aunt Ida, thank God  
> And Marco might not be as truthful as he seems to be

Jean woke up to the confusing sight of the wardrobe. He had, apparently, fallen out of bed.

He rose up, wincing, trying to remember which day was today. Ah, of course. The day before the second ball. The Bodt family were really into formalities. This ball was to announce the engagement of their youngest. Jean was already dreading it. Everyone fawning over him and proclaiming about what a handsome young man he is. His eyes rolled for what would be the first in many times that day. 

It was going to be a very long day.

It was mainly due to his dress suit. He had been talking to Marco the other day, and somehow he'd stumbled across that sticky subject. An unpleasant image of Connie's Aunty Ida had inadvertently popped up in his brain, and Marco's peals of laughter and confession that yes, his dress suit wasn't exactly what you'd call manly, had fully convinced the mortified Jean that it was time to put those savings to a good use. Marco, being the kind soul that he was, had offered to provide his experience and help him choose a better suit. 

Jean looked at himself in the mirror, not surprised to see the black rings under his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping well, because of Marco and shit and all the troubles he was currently facing (the dress suit being one of these troubles) (Jean was very vain okay). He had mixed feelings for this day. He would be spending the entire day with Marco, and he would also be buying a new suit. But the prospect of spending an entire day with Marco was also terrifying. He had reached a point were he couldn't actually stare at Marco without flushing slightly. He'd often caught Marco staring at him weirdly. Not that that was a new experience. Jean had always been at the receiving end of many of that kind of glance. He wasn't what you might call a normal kid.

His mother called from downstairs. “Jean-booooy! Breakfast in ten!”  
“Coming!”

He splashed some cold water on his face from the basin next to his bed, wincing as it hit his skin but instantly feeling invigorated. He went downstairs as he was, wearing nothing except trouser bottoms, his face soaking. He was met by an unusual sight; his mother, waving her hands animatedly as she spoke to none other than Marco. Marco Bodt. Yes, that Marco. Wait, WHAT MARCO?

Jean froze there, his hand still clutching the bannister, painfully aware that he was half-naked in front of his future wife's brother. Jean's mother saw him first. He tried to make some kind of sign to shut-the-fuck-UP-I-need-more-clothes, but she didn't get the hint. His very obvious arm flailing had, apparently, not been obvious enough, as her cheery greeting made painfully obvious. Jean felt Marco's gaze on him as the latter turned round, his jaw dropping comically at the fabulous sight of Jean's torso.

Magnificent.

Marco recovered quickly, bidding Jean a good morning, with one raised eyebrow and slightly flushed cheeks. Jean concluded that this morning couldn't possibly get any worse. For both of them. I mean, who'd want to see Jean's horrifyingly flabby, white stomach this early in the morning? He may be getting slightly more muscular from all the horse riding (and the falling-from-horse, because he still did that sometimes and it bloody HURT), but it still didn't show. 

He suddenly realised that the internal monologue he'd been keeping up had effectively blocked out the conversation. Maybe a bit too effectively. Both his mom and Marco were looking at him expectantly.

“Er,” he began, feeling like an utter idiot, “what?”  
Marco rolled his eyes, but smiled. He turned to Jean's mom, and said, “See, Mrs Kirstein? I told you he'd say that.”  
“You know my own son better than me,” she chuckled, wiping tears from her eyes. “Jean, darling, we were saying that you look tired. Have you been sleeping well?”  
“Ah,” Jean said intelligently. He blinked a few times before he came up with another intelligent answer. “Not...really?”  
“I'll take care of this, Mrs Kirstein,” said Marco, and he stood up and grasped Jean firmly from his wrist. “Come on, you.”

Jean was so shell-shocked that he allowed himself to be dragged to his room by Marco, who only stopped occasionally to ask for directions, to which Jean answered, albeit begrudgingly. He was sat down on his own bed, and Marco was suddenly towering over him threateningly. “What?” said Jean defensively.

Marco picked up the basin and sat it carefully next to Jean. “Wash your face.”  
“But-”  
“No buts. Come on.”

Jean obliged reluctantly, Marco's eyes boring holes into him. After soaking his face (but not as much as he soaked the bed) thoroughly, he looked up at Marco beseechingly. His puppy eyes were his only defence. But Marco was a solid wall of determination. He pointed at the clothes that had somehow hung themselves on the wardrobe, and ordered Jean to dress. 

Somehow, Marco managed to convince Jean to look presentable enough for their outing. He then proceeded to propel Jean to his mother, earning an impressed “Whoa” from her. Jean scowled, averting his eyes while Marco basked in his mom's praise.

In the distance, the church bell tolled. Marco's eyes widened slightly. “Is that the time already? We'd better get going, Jean.” 

Jean agreed hurriedly, glad at the convenient excuse to leave the house before his mother would further embarrass him. They had decided to ride to the nearest town, Shiganshina, on their horses. Jean had only recently found out that the Bodt's owned two horses, a beautiful white stallion called Snow (how original) and a mud-brown mare called Sludge. The Bodt's apparently possessed some kind of warped humour, deep down inside. Jean would, obviously, be riding Fury, the horse who possessed such a lot of Jean's greatest characteristics, which included grunting, snorting, kicking people and annoying the living hell out of everyone.   
He made his way to the stables, Marco trailing behind him. As he saddled Fury, he could feel Marco's eyes on him, unwavering. He turned to find the older boy smirking, leaning against the stable door, just enough for his shirt to hike up, revealing a strip of healthy, tanned skin. Jean would have bet his grumpy horse that he spotted freckles there too. To hide his rising flush, he grunted irritably, “What you staring at, pretty boy?”

If Marco found it weird or oddly appealing to be called “pretty boy”, his face didn't give away much. He answered back, coolly, “Well, you just never act as nice towards us human beings as you're acting towards your horse. I kinda envy him.” 

Jean turned away from Marco, hoping his face didn't give away much. He snorted non-committally. “You act rough towards Fury, and Fury will kick your stomach so hard you'll be seeing stars for days. I named him Fury for a reason, you know?” Now this wasn't particularly true, but Marco didn't need to know the true reason behind his horse's name.

This friendly barter held up as Jean mounted his steed, Marco grabbing the reigns and leading Fury out. The weather was beautiful; warm but not stifling, and a cool breeze blew amongst the golden strands of grass. A nice silence fell over the two boys as the manor came into view, a sight so familiar now for Jean that it seemed to him that he was arriving at his second home. Jean waited outside till Marco fetched Sludge, laughing slightly at Marco's obviously rusty horse-riding skills. He moved jerkily next to Jean's fluid motions, and the sound of Jean's teasing voice and both their laughter filled the morning air.

When at last they'd arrived to Shiganshina, Marco was drooping slightly on his horse. They checked their horses into a rental stable and walked around, Jean making the occasional comment on how Marco's legs were still a bit too far apart. Marco would flush and shush him, but Jean never missed the adorably embarrassed smile that followed.

“Now what?” asked Jean suddenly, staring around him in a mixture of awe and confusion.  
Marco shrugged. “Let's go to that one,” he suggested, pointing at a small, neat shop. As soon as they entered, they were greeted by the sight of ordered chaos. Neat, but at the same time disordered. The shopkeeper appeared from behind piles of papers, her glasses crooked, her brown hair flying all over the place. “Oohh, hello! New customers!” She made as if to call over her shoulder. “Lev--, oh nevermind, he left, didn't he? Ah, where was I? Oh yes, my name's Hange Zoe, nice to meet you, what can I help you with today?”

She had managed to say all that in one breath, without appearing to become breathless, an admirable feat, one must say. The two boys blinked in unison, before speaking at once.  
“Oh, we were just-”  
“Ah, Jean here was going-”

They looked at each other and laughed. Jean started again. “Well, we were just browsing to see if there's a suitable suit for me...?”

“Ooh, perfect! I know just the thing for a handsome gentleman like you! You'll be making all the pretty girls swoon at your feet soon! Or boys,” she added as an afterthought. “You can never know.”

She disappeared in a little room behind the counter, leaving Jean slowly turning an interesting shade of puce and Marco staring at the ceiling in a dazed fashion.

A few hours later, Marco and Jean emerged from Hange's shop with a suit and a pair of throbbing heads. Hange's incessant chattering had been pleasant but altogether wearying. When Jean had finally chosen a suit, a simple three piece suit with black trousers and blazer and a grey waistcoat, Hange had whistled appreciatively and Marco had said he looked good, sounding a little strained. Now they were riding back home, towards the Bodt manor. 

Marco had insisted that Jean stayed over for a bit of refreshments and to say hi to Marie. Jean had agreed, even though he was exhausted. He felt it was his duty to meet Marie, especially after all the recent developments involving her brother and his all-consuming guilt. 

When they reached the manor and had safely saddled in both horses, Marie launched herself at both of them, yelling happily. She'd wanted to see Jean in his suit, but he'd told her, gently, “It's going to be a surprise, for tomorrow.” She'd blushed then, her eyes twinkling, staring deep into Jean's eyes. Marco had stood awkwardly behind them, a painful reminder to Jean that the person who really made him feel what Marie was probably feeling right now was him, and not her.

The morning melted into late afternoon. They had lazed around in the garden, laughing. Marco would leave occasionally after some particularly mushy comment from Marie. Jean concluded that he was probably embarrassed on his sister's behalf. At one point, Marie, very unexpectedly, had reached up and kissed Jean's cheek, immediately blushing bright red and excusing herself rapidly. Jean had laughed, confused at her reaction, and waved it off, not noticing Marco's crestfallen look and his rapidly paling face. 

It was only when the sun was beginning to sink that Jean finally admitted to himself that he required sleep instantly. He told the Bodt siblings that he had to leave, and Marie, close to tears, had hugged him and whispered, “I can't wait to see my beautiful fiancé tomorrow!” She then proceeded to climb up to her room, waving to Jean from the top of the stairs and finally disappearing. 

Marco led Jean to his horse. As Jean was arranging the saddle and speaking idly of the wild day they'd experienced, while studiously not looking in Marco's general direction, Marco appeared to get more and more agitated, until suddenly, his hand shot out, gripping Jean's right wrist.

Jean started, and finally looked at Marco. His face was contorted into one of fear so absolute that it stirred a deep fear inside Jean himself, making him turn around, suddenly afraid that someone was going to attack them, or something. When all his eyes met was the setting darkness and the whispering trees, he turned back, slowly. Marco's eyes where searching, pleading. Jean said, in a gentle voice, “Marco? Hey, what's wrong?”

Marco's voice sounded strained and constricted. “We're...we're friends, right?”

Jean's eyebrows furrowed. “Of course we are.” He made a daring move with his next answer. “Best friends, eh?” He was using the voice that he used when Fury was being skittish; calm, gentle, patient. It appeared to have some positive effect on Marco; his eyes lost some of their panicked glaze, and the death-grip he had on Jean's wrist loosened slightly.

“It's just that...I haven't been completely honest with you, Jean. I...I don't want this to affect us, and it doesn't concern you either. It's just that I think that our friendship will be better without secrets... I just...I'm too scared...”

“You can tell me anything, M, you know that,” said Jean soothingly, hiding the worry and concern building up in his chest. What could be so awful to reduce proud, brave Marco into this stuttering mess?

“Well, you see...I...I like...boys...?”

Jean didn't get it at first. Then he got it. And his stomach fell down to join his heart, which was lying somewhere at foot-level. What? Marco...too?

Marco was staring at him, ashamed, embarrassed, seeking an answer in Jean's eyes. And Jean couldn't help it. He shook Marco off and mounted Fury in one fluid motion. Marco's gaze shattered, his eyes instantly pooling with tears he was too proud to shed. His voice betrayed him, cracking as he said, “Jean-please--”

Jean looked down at Marco, his own eyes mirroring his, and said, “I need time, M. Give me time.” Then he turned Fury round and dug his heels in his sides, more sharply than he'd intended. Fury lunged and neighed in protest, a sound that tore through the silence and jolted Marco out of his stupor. His gaze hardened. As Jean rode off towards his house, Marco walked inside and slammed the door behind him, sliding against it, finally letting his tears fall down. 

Jean didn't look back once. He couldn't.   
His guilt was now so great it was devouring him. There he was, with a woman who thought he loved her, and a man who thought he hated him, when in fact, it was all wrong, all messed up, like his thoughts, like his life. 

He didn't make it to his house that night. He fell asleep in some field, when he'd exhausted both the horse and himself, the horse from the frantic riding, and himself from the tears he'd shed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a bit late because my inspiration dried up over the weekend ah well  
> Hope you like it HAHAH don't kill me pls 
> 
> Next chapter will hopefully be up this weekend <3  
> Comment if you hated/loved something :3 thanks xx
> 
> Claire xxx


	5. Apologies (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean remembers that his new suit was still at Marco's because he is a forgetful little shit

A bright orange haze behind his closed eyelids drew Jean slowly towards conscious thought. Confused, he opened his eyes, only to close them quickly again, a bright ray of sunlight immediately searing them. At first his mind spiraled out of control, until he remembered exactly what had happened the night before. He groaned loudly and rolled to his side, earning himself a face-full of soil and grass. He heard a distant splash, and upon looking, he found Fury drinking serenely from a nearby creek.

He remembered his mother in a sudden flash. He managed to scramble up, not even beginning to think about the state his clothes were in. He whistled for Fury, and the black horse came trotting slowly towards him, snorting grumpily at having his breakfast interrupted. 

“You're a good boy,” Jean said, stroking his nose as a sudden wave of affection for his grumpy, moody horse swept over him. He realised that the horse had not abandoned him that night, unlike his master, who had abandoned everyone whom he'd cared about in one rash action. God, he was being dramatic today. It could possibly be a side effect to having fucked up your entire life in the space of a few hours.

He rode fast, stomach churning in apprehension. He was right; his absence had been discovered. His mother's face was contorted in worry, and her voice sounded ragged as she called Jean's name, over and over again. When she heard the distant clopping of Jean's horse approaching, her head spun round, and having caught sight of Jean, her demeanour instantly changed. Her face sagged with relief, and her hands stopped fluttering and raking her hair back from her face. He stopped next to her and slid of the horse, and his mother caught him in her arms and hugged him so tight he was sure he heard a few ribs cracking.

After a few moments, she pushed him back and examined every inch of him, making sure he was hurt in any way. She raised an eyebrow as she took in the mud splatters and random leaves sticking to his clothes, but thankfully said nothing. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “Where were you, Jean-boy? We were so worried...”  
“I spent the night over at Connie's,” he lied easily. “I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before...we over-slept, and I came in a hurry. I'm sorry to make you worry.” He said the last part with sincerity. His rash actions had severe repercussions, and he cursed himself for his hot-head. His anger issues were getting the better of him. Again.

His mother's eyes softened, and she brushed her hand through Jean's hair. “It doesn't matter , sweetheart. Your father told me not to worry, and I know I shouldn't, you're a responsible man now, but you'll still be my baby boy...” She dissolved into quiet tears, and the boiling self-hate inside Jean sprang up with renewed vigour. He wiped her tears away slowly, and then said softly, “I'm gonna prepare for the ball.” And suddenly, he remembered. 

He had left his suit at the Bodt manor.

Well, fuck.

His mother detected the change in mood, and questioned, “What? What is it, honey?”

“I forgot my suit at Marco's.” He winced as he sad the name, remembering the wretched look on his face as Jean was turning his back on him. His mother only laughed, unable to realise what her son was going through at that precise moment. 

“You'll forget your head behind one day, Jean. You'd better get going, silly.”

Reluctantly, he got back on Fury and steered him towards the path to the Bodt Manor. He went slowly, and for the first time in so many times, he didn't stop to look at the scenery, or admire how the sun's rays fell on the delicate flowers littering the sides of the passage. He kept his head resolutely down, ashamed of everything he was; a coward, an idiot, a self-hating whiny fool, an anger-driven reckless moron. 

He arrived before he had thought of an apology, or really, even a greeting. He thought, I've fucked up enough. What's going to change with another fuck-up?

He left Fury munching away at the neat lawn and stood at the front door, looking up at it with dread churning in his stomach. He knocked hesitantly, hardly making a sound. He knocked again, louder, and he heard distant footsteps approaching. He swallowed his apprehension (and with it his pride) and waited with bated breath for the door to creak open. When at last it did, his built-up anxiety disintegrated as a petite, unfamiliar face opened the door. She was wearing a maid's uniform, and by her subservient behaviour, it was made obvious to Jean that she was the Bodt family maid. She asked, in a small, polite voice, “Good morning, young sir. How may I be of any use to you?” Her blue eyes looked up from beneath her cap, blonde hair escaping wildly from under it.

He was at a loss for what to say, momentarily bemused at how such a pretty person could actually exist. He finally managed to sputter out, “Is Marc—eh—Mr Bodt's son here please?”

“Of course, sir.” She looked a bit shifty as she said, “You...you might not find him in his usual state of mind, sir, I must warn you. We tried to stop him-”

Jean gripped her shoulders hard, aware that he must be making a very fine picture of himself, and said, frantically, “Where is he?” 

The maid looked alarmed, pointing a slightly shaking finger in the general upstairs direction. “His room, si--”  
“Thanks!” Jean didn't even give her time to finish her sentence. He was already halfway across the entry hall, climbing the stairs two at a time. He'd only been to Marco's room once before, and it had only been to retrieve something. As he burst into it, he found Marco lying on his stomach on his bed, his face buried in his pillow. Two empty wine bottles lay next to his bed, and a third one was clutched in his hands, three-quarters empty. Jean was horrified. He was by his side in a second, tugging the wine bottle from his hands, earning a muffled moan that did things to Jean that he'd rather not dwell on at this moment. He made up his mind quickly, and climbed onto Marco's bed, trying not to hurt Marco. 

Marco lifted his head up, his eyes deep pits of sorrow. Jean realised that he was not as drunk as he'd thought he'd be. He guessed that the wine was consumed the night before, and he was just massively hungover. Marco blinked and realised that Jean was actually there. He shied away from him, his emotions seeping away from the canvas of his face, protecting himself from what he thought would be the inevitable betrayal. Jean's heart broke, and his hand reached out and caught Marco's hand. His eyes brimmed over, and his tears came pouring down. They stayed like that, Marco lying on his side, arm caught in Jean's hand, Jean on his knees, his other hand hiding his face as the tears streamed out steadily. If Jean had been able to see Marco's face, he'd have realised that the face that had until just a few moments ago held no emotion had changed. The hard eyes had softened, and the mouth that had been set in a firm line had relaxed. And if Jean had been looking, he'd have seen Marco inch closer and sit up, and he'd have seen Marco's hands coming up and around him, embracing him suddenly. At first, Jean froze, but then he lost it completely. He went limp in Marco's arms, head resting at the crook of Marco's neck. He realised that he was repeating the same phrase over and over again; “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...”

After a while Jean pulled away, not quite able to meet Marco's eyes. He spoke again, softly, “I do not deserve your apology. That was a dick move of mine yesterday...I appeared to abandon you, but the truth is...it's what I feel too? And I was so scared, Marco, so scared...As soon as I think I'm normal, and I'm gonna be a good husband and give my parents grand-children and a lineage, here I am, falling for someone I can't possibly have, and--”

Marco stopped him. “Wait, what?”

Jean met his eyes and said, in disbelief, “Do I have to start all that again, you dickwad?”

Marco looked sheepish. “Ah, no, no...it's all very hard to grasp, you see...but you said you liked someone...?”

Jean rolled his eyes and said, in a monotone voice, as if to remark on how extremely dull Marco is, “You, idiot. Haven't I made that much clear yet?”

Marco's eyes widened, and he didn't say anything. By now, Jean had gambled so much that he really didn't know what to expect. Anger, that he was openly confessing that he had no real love towards Marie? Embarrassment, because the feelings aren't reciprocated? 

What he wasn't expecting, however, was for Marco to bend over and kiss him.

Maybe he was drunk, after all.

Jean remained there, his eyes wide open, inhaling the smell of Marco, overwhelmed by the sudden sensory overload that was being pushed onto him. He surrendered to Marco then, his hand coming up to touch Marco's face, wonderingly, stunned that he was finally this close to this kind of person, a closeness he'd yearned for unconsciously for years.  
The kiss was short and awkward, as first kisses were meant to be. When they broke off, they both just stared at each other, stunned at their own forwardness. Jean broke the stare first, beginning to laugh, his cheeks warm with the flush he could feel becoming stronger in intensity. Marco's eyes crinkled at the sides as he smiled, and soon they were both laughing like idiots. The turmoil and despair Jean had been feeling only a few minutes ago dissolved into airy, carefree bubbles that floated out with the tears of mirth running down his cheeks.

Their laughter petered out eventually. Marco was looking at Jean with a mixture of wonder and sadness. He reached out and stroked Jean's cheek, sending shivers from the contact point through Jean's body. Finally, he spoke. “You know, this is wrong.”

Jean's heart stopped. Marco realised what he said and continued hurriedly. “I mean, not this. This is a thing of nature, and it is only natural to feel attracted towards you really, because Christ--” He broke off, gesturing meaningfully in Jean's general direction, causing Jean to flush (again. Wow Jean, you're really acting manly today). “Anyway, my point is...you're betrothed, Jean. To my sister, no less.”

Marco sighed as Jean's eyes became downcast. He took his hands into his larger ones, and said, “Let's try and work round this, eh? Let's try and act as we've always had, and maybe...just maybe...”

Jean felt his irrational anger rise again. He knew Marco was right, of course. But now that he knew that he wasn't the only one that was suffering through this hell, and knowing that this angelic person was willing to let him try and face the flames of hell on his own, without even any protection, maddened him. He was supposed to understand that the task he'd given him was an impossible feat. When Jean Kirstein gave away his heart, he gave it fully and unconditionally. He began backing off the bed, trying to shake off Marco. 

He managed, and he turned around, beginning to walk towards the door, until one word stopped him in his tracks. 

“Jean.”

That one word, spoken in such a heartbroken way, tore away at his heart. He turned his head around and looked straight into Marco's eyes, which were as self-hating and desperate as his. 

He closed his eyes briefly. “For you, Marco. For you I'll do anything.” Then he turned around and walked out of the room, Marco's gratified sobs following him and fading slowly into the distance. 

This time, he remembered the suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that was unexpected   
> well this is a little short. originally i planned to write the events of the 2nd ball here as well but that would have meant a massive chapter so i split it into two (in fact this chapter is part I)  
> i really hope you're enjoying it :3  
> thanks for the support <3
> 
> Claire xxxx


	6. Perfect/Imperfect (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Marco is a doofus and Jean is an even bigger doofus and this is really just a fic of doofuses. does that word even exist what

Jean sat down on his bed, wearing his suit. The events of earlier that day were still unbelievable to him. He wasn't even sure if Marco had been aware of his actions, and he was already steeling himself for the inevitable confusion and frantic back-pedalling out of the situation. After all, that was a common occurrence in his life.

He was worried that his mother would see right through him, would catch on that something was amiss. His mother was shrewd, and she always knew when something was bothering Jean. Usually, it made him feel better to be noticed, but now he cursed the give-away signs that would alert his mother. He wasn't ready to face her yet...would he ever be? He dreaded the dawning disappointment on her face as he broke yet another of her perfect dreams. Would he still be her Jean-boy then, he wondered? 

Just then, his mother walked in. He jumped in fright, trying frantically to smooth away any tell-tale facial expression that would throw off the delicate balance of Jean's fragile emotions. His mother didn't notice this, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her son.

“You look so handsome, Jean!” she said, her voice light and happy, making Jean feel twice as worse. “Marie will fall in love with you all over again at this rate!” she continued teasingly, unaware of the guilt that had just duplicated inside of Jean's heart. She ran her hand gently through Jean's light-coloured hair, smoothing away any tangles. Instantly, Jean felt soothed, as if a tranquilliser had been injected where her fingers made contact with his scalp. It had always been like this; his mother's hand would always chase away any worries from him as it swept gently through his hair. Instinctively, his body curved towards her, a primal gesture of need, and his mother responded by sitting next to him and opening her arms, letting him curl up against her. She held him close, rocking him gently as he breathed in her smell.

Finally, she spoke. “Are you nervous?”  
“Yeah. I don't really know why.”  
“Well, it's a big day, isn't it? You're officially her fiancé now.”  
“I guess...”  
“You'll be fine. You'll have Marco as well, you won't feel left out, yeah?”  
“Oh yeah, sure, Marco...Oh, is that the time already?”

Jean was vainly trying to keep himself sane, and the church bell had saved him in time. He untangled himself from his mother, kissed the top of her head and ran out, putting on the blazer as he ran down the stairs. He whistled goodbye to Fury, who neighed faintly back at him before presumably returning to sleep. Jean took to the manor, walking slowly. 

It was rather chilly. The sun was setting, and the sky was a mixture of oranges, reds, blues, and dark purple. It was beautiful. It helped Jean to think, and build up his courage. He wasn't going to shy away from his problems. Not anymore. He did have feelings for Marco. Hell, even the name 'Marco' made his legs weak. He was aware that his attraction wasn't normal. But he didn't feel anything abnormal in being attracted to someone. It was, as Marco had said, nature. In fact, that didn't worry him. What really worried him was his parents' reaction. He didn't really care for anyone else's opinion. All he wanted was acceptance from his mother, and especially, his father. He shuddered in dread. His father, whom he had, at long last, made proud. That image of perfection, so quickly shattered.

And Marie. Darling, sweet Marie. How could he look her in the eyes, those eyes that looked so much like Marco's? How could he marry her? How couldn't he? 

The gradually increasing noise broke his train of thought, and as he raised his head, he realised that he'd arrived. A wave of deja vu jarred his memory, and he remembered that first ball, when he'd thought life was so hard. What he'd give to go back there, maybe tweak something in his brain, change himself to something more ideal, more perfect. But, no. If he'd been perfect, he would have never found Marco. Let him be imperfect, because in his imperfection, he'd found perfection.

He walked up to the front door, which was flung open. A cheery tune flowed from within, and a noisy hubbub echoed all over. He breathed in, and took the plunge.

He squeezed through people, stepped on several dresses, and elbowed a lot of people. A lot. Of people. He earned searing glares and a lot of muttered curses, which he graced with a sickly sweet smile and a concealed middle finger. 

He finally found them. Marco and Marie were standing in the middle of the huge ballroom, talking and laughing to several guests. As if he'd sensed him, Marco's head turned around, and their eyes, impossibly, met. Jean began raising his hand in greeting, but stopped halfway when Marco's eyes whipped back towards Marie. Great.

He made his way towards them, with difficulty, and now Marie had spotted him too. Her whole face lit up, and she began bouncing on her heels, unable to contain her happiness. She really is smitten, he thought sadly, as he finally reached them. Immediately, she threw her hands around his neck and hugged him tightly. “You look so handsome, Jean!” she whispered.

He held her tightly, and whispered back, with the utmost sincerity, “You look truly magnificent, Marie.” When she finally let go of him, her face was shining and red, and her eyes were tear-filled. 

“Thanks,” she finally answered, shyly. She leaned up to arrange his bow-tie, which had become crooked throughout their embrace. People around them began pairing up as another song began, and Marie looked expectantly at Jean. Jean took the hint and offered her his hand, bowing slightly. “May I have this dance, Ms Bodt?” he said mock-seriously. 

Marie giggled as she took her hand, and answered back, “You sure may, Mr Kirstein.”

And it was then that Jean's eyes met Marco's. It was only for a brief second, but the gaze that flew between them burned white hot with intensity. Both of them looked away at the same time, bright red in the face. Jean hurriedly pulled Marie to the middle of the ballroom while Marco tucked his hands in his coat pockets and fled towards his refuge; the garden.

Jean tried to lose himself in the dancing, immersing himself in Marie's soft chatter, a comforting background to his tumultuous thoughts. He had opened his heart this morning, had trusted in him...was it all for nothing? Had he revealed who he really was, only to be shouldered out of the way by the only person who'd seemed to accept him?

Oh, Marco.

They danced three dances in quick succession, and Jean's feet felt as if they were about to fall off. Marie clearly felt the same, but seemed to be enjoying herself too much to stop. Her face shone in a way that made Jean sick, because the more she fell in love with him, the more wretched he felt at not being able to return a love so pure and so innocent. He couldn't stand staring at that face any longer.

“Marie, sweetheart, would you give a few minutes? I'm afraid if we dance another dance, I'll fall on top of you in exhaustion.”

Marie immediately raised her hand to his face, the unconscious, intimate gesture like a blow to Jean's stomach. He tried not to cringe away from the contact as Marie, oblivious, answered, “Oh darling, why didn't you say that before? I think I saw Marco run off into the garden a few minutes ago...or was that hours? Well, you see, he's quite a loner...and you two are such good friends...” She trailed off, looking at Jean hopefully.

“Oh, oh yeah, I'll go find him then. See you later, Marie.”

“See you, darling.”  
Jean tried not to panic. Why had she sent him after Marco, of all people? Thinking about it, he'd have still had to confront him eventually, but now was probably not the right time for it. His legs shook, and he bit his lip to keep himself going steady.

The cool, garden air hit his flushed face as he stepped unsteadily outside. There were some guests here as well, but the chilly night made the garden quite a hostile environment for the large majority of guests, who seemed to be acquainted with a much warmer climate. Jean went deeper inside the garden, following a half-hidden path that most people didn't even notice. It was Marco's escape, and therefore it was also Jean's. Memories of the previous months flashed by, memories of sun and laughter and chatter, and the quiet silence of friendship. He missed Marco, his Marco, his other best friend. Marco wasn't like Connie. Where Connie was loud and brash, Marco was quiet and reserved. Where Connie's jokes were practical, Marco's were laced with witty humour and his unique, sarcastic streak. 

He was so lost in thought he almost ran into the person standing in front of him. He stopped himself just in time, frozen in position. He was standing quite close, and instantly he caught that unique scent that was purely Marco. Marco was standing in a small clearing, his arms curled around him, hugging himself. He hadn't noticed Jean yet, giving Jean the time to observe him from were he was now, having stepped back of few paces to keep himself hidden. And only then did he realise that a steady stream of words were pouring from his mouth.

“...stupid goddamn Marco you and your fucking idiocy you lost him your best friend...your only friend... because of your stupidity...God I'm so screwed why did I have to...to...kiss him, and why did I have to like it that much...I'll never be able to look at him again...and then I told him to pretend it didn't happen...I'm a mess...”

Jean's heart leaped. So Marco wasn't regretting it? His mouth was moving before his brain had registered the action, resulting in a very shaky, “Hey, Marco.”

Marco whipped around, his hand coming up and shutting his mouth quickly. From behind his hand, a small, shaky voice leaked out. “J-Jean? D-did you h-hear--”

Jean moved closer, slowly, as one might approach an injured, terrified deer. He interrupted the shaky words with a decisive, “I've heard enough.”

Even though it was quite dark, he saw Marco blanch. His freckles stood out, a stark contrast against the paler-than-usual skin. Jean's heart beat a little faster at the sight of them, and his hand itched to reach out for them, but it was too soon. Marco was slowly gaining colour at an alarmingly fast rate, turning from white to red in two seconds flat. Jean feared that he'd explode. The silence was thick with tension. 

Finally, Jean raised his hand and placed it on Marco's upraised arm. “I kissed you back, remember?”

And that phrase, that single phrase that Jean uttered that held so many new possibilities, so many dangerously exciting prospects, broke the silence, and the shock of it made Marco drop his hand from his mouth. Jean thought it safe to move his hand from his arm to his cheek, stroking the freckles that had featured in so many dreams, that he saw every night in the night sky, amongst the constellations of stars. Marco's eyes stared deep into his own, wondering, fragile, disbelieving. And when Jean found himself leaning towards Marco, as if he had his own small gravitational field, he found that he would never trade his imperfection for anything, if this was the price he got because of it.

And when their lips touched once more, not even God himself could tell him that what he felt at that moment wasn't natural and pure and real.

Was this really what it meant to fall in love?

Marco, who had been frozen rigid up to that point, came to life. His hands rose from where they'd been hanging at his sides to grasp Jean's hips, pulling him towards him. Jean raised his other hand, sliding it up Marco's neck and stopping where his hair began, stroking the short shorn edges as the kiss deepened. Jean's breath hitched, and Marco made a small noise at the back of his throat that sounded like a growl. They moved in sync, a symphony of tongues and lips and hot breaths, Marco's hands sliding up from Jean's hips to his back and down again, as Jean was slowly driven insane. The pressing need for oxygen finally broke off the kiss, but they remained in that position, no space between them, their hands round each other, their foreheads and noses touching, looking into each others eyes. 

Finally, Jean broke the silence.  
“I cannot promise to keep away from you, Marco Bodt.”

Marco closed his eyes. Jean saw the fine branching of veins on his eyelids, so delicate, such a fine lattice containing such fire, hiding eyes that burned with such white-hot intensity, the very same that burned him now, as Marco opened his eyes again. He was scared, Jean sensed that, through the hands that gripped his blazer tighter, but he was also determined.

“I don't want to hurt my sister. But I can't think straight when I think of not...of not kissing you again...I need you, Jean...”

Jean's eyes filled with tears, and he buried his face in Marco's shoulders in an effort to hide them. Marco lowered his head so that his cheek rested in top of Jean's head.

As they embraced, the soft strains of music from the ball reached them. Marco lifted his head up slightly and said, in a soft voice, “May I have the next dance, Mr Kirstein?”

Jean smiled against the fabric of Marco's coat, and said, softly, “You may.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I was busy because Easter is quite a big feast for us, so I couldn't write D: but here it is finally :D   
> it's special seeing as tomorrow (7 April) is Jean's bday, sooo happy bday u foolish dork xx
> 
> If anyone has seen sorta-out-there 's art for this fic, ( sorta-out-there.tumblr.com ) this chapter is supposed to correspond to some of them :3
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for the support <3
> 
> Claire xxx


	7. Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eruri makes a guest appearance.  
> And Jean is becoming increasingly similar to his horse.

That morning was blissful. Jean woke up and just stayed there in his bed, lying down, staring at the ceiling, and he allowed the memories of the previous evening to replay in his mind. He remembered how they danced, slowly, in the garden clearing, as the stars lit up the sky. Jean remembered tracing the freckles on Marco's cheeks, forming constellations. Eventually they lay down on the grass and stared up at the sky, with Jean pointing out actual constellations, all the time revelling in the feeling of Marco's hand in his. Eventually they had to return to the ballroom, Jean having remembered that he'd promised Marie the last dance. 

They only let go of each others hands before entering the room.

Marie had seemed quieter during this dance. Jean pinned it down to exhaustion. After all, that's what he himself was experiencing, and he'd only danced three consecutive dances. Marie had danced the entire night.

When it was time to leave, he'd given Marie an extra big hug. He wanted her to be happy, and his enormous guilt was constantly reminding him that he was the person who would probably make her the least happy. 

Jean sighed, snapping himself into the present. Today he wouldn't be travelling to the Bodt manor. On days like this, he'd usually help his mother, or annoy the hell out of Connie. But today he had a special errand to run. His father's workmate, Erwin Smith, had been sick, and his mother, being the kind soul that she was (read: slave driver) thought it a fine idea for Jean to deliver a small get-well-soon present (a home-made fruit-tart) to the Smith household. 

The Smiths had recently moved further away from the village centre as there had been rising controversy at the fact that Erwin had married not only a person of considerably lower class, but also a male. Their marriage had been held in a far-off town where it was apparently legal, but here they were looked down on and called the 'spawns of the devil'. Luckily for Erwin, his job had remained intact, although it had affected his salary slightly. When the pressure became too much for them, however, they had moved to a more remote location. This precise irrational hate towards being attracted to the same gender that infected most of his village's population was the only reason that Jean cursed himself. But then he would remember Marco's huge smile underneath the freckled sky of his cheeks and his heart would instantly feel lighter. By God, he was becoming smitten.

He dressed himself quickly, wearing his sturdy horse-riding shoes, a lesson learned after acquiring countless blisters and bruises from riding too far with his usual shoes. He was soon outside, one hand clutching the cloth wrapped around the tart, the other going up to his mouth, whistling to Fury. The said horse, who only just been let out by Jean's father, trotted towards him with an annoyed expression, and Jean reflected, not for the first time (and certainly not for the last) how similar he was to his four-legged friend. He hoisted himself up with some difficulty, trying not to squash the tart in the process. When he'd settled the tart and was sat comfortably enough, he gave the horse a gentle nudge. His father had explained where the Smiths lived, but Jean was still unsure about the way. He was also mulling over the tone his father used when he talked about Erwin. It was condescending and slightly disgusted, and Jean started feeling even more shitty than usual. He pushed it out of his brain with some difficulty, focussing on not becoming horribly lost.

It was quite a cloudy day. Typical Trost. Sunny one minute, cloudy the very next one. He nudged Fury's sides again, urging him to pick up speed. Soon, he reached unfamiliar territory. The trees here were larger, the grass more rugged, the landscape more dotted with wild flowers and weeds. He placed a hand over his eyes, sheltering them from the weak rays of sun, as he searched for a house that for his father's description. At last he spotted a quaint little cottage at the edge of the forest, almost invisible. He pointed Fury towards it and headed slowly there, apprehension slowly rising up his throat, choking him. Would they be cold? Would they think he was one of them, the bull-headed citizens who thought being different equal to being the devil's offspring?

He thought he saw the curtain of one of the windows move when he approached. He peered at it to see if he could spot anyone, but whoever it was closed it again quickly. Jean stroked Fury's mane and the horse slowed down and came to a halt. Jean slid off him with difficulty and almost fell. Graceful as a leaping doe, that's him. Fury made a small, choking noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Jean glared at him so fiercely that the horse turned around and started nibbling at the grass, conveniently swishing Jean's face with his tail. Jean huffed, and gathered up his courage. He knocked twice on the small door, the harsh noise scaring off some birds in nearby trees. Jean heard footsteps approaching and braced himself. The door opened, and Jean's gaze hit the opposite wall. He lowered his head until his gaze hit the small man leaning against the door frame, who was glaring at him through narrowed eyes. After some time of gaping with his mouth hanging open, Jean found his voice.

“Uh...um...I'm looking for...a...Mr Smith?”

“Which Smith, horseface?” The short man's vice was harsh and sarcastic, but Jean could hear the hints of sadness carefully concealed behind that exterior. Maybe because he himself carefully concealed his true emotions, in a very similar fashion.

“Eh...Erwin Smith?”

“Than I'm not the one you're looking for. Name's Levi, by the way.”

“Oh, very nice to meet you, Mr Levi, I'm Jean. Kirstein. Jean Kirstein.”

“Son of that bloody bastard? Good Lord, shall I throw him out, Erwin?”

Jean didn't realise that his mouth had fallen open again until he felt the cold air hit the back of his throat. This was the first time that anyone had insulted his father so thoroughly and so blatantly in his presence. 

A deeper voice sounded from inside. “Levi, be reasonable.”

“He made your life hell,Erwin--”

“His son has nothing to do with it.”

Levi scowled darkly. “Fine.” He moved out of the way to allow a severely shell-shocked Jean to step inside. He stopped him with a petite hand. “I won't tolerate any bad mouthing towards my husband, Kirstein. One word, and I'll throw you out of the window.” Jean gulped, and Levi let go of him. He pointed towards a brightly lit room, and said, reluctantly, “He's there.”

He turned round and disappeared in what seemed to be the kitchen. Jean shakily walked towards the room where Erwin resided. He walked in hesitantly, and was greeted by the sight of a significantly larger man who was sitting on a couch, reading what seemed to be a Dickens novel. He looked up, raising impressively bushy eyebrows slightly as he took Jean in. He put his book down and stood up, offering his hand. Jean took it, slightly relieved that he wasn't so much like his husband. “I'm very pleased to meet you, Jean. Don't mind Levi. He has a lot of anger for such a small person. He's a great guy, once you eliminate his anger.”

“Oh, he has every right to be angry...” Jean said, lowering his eyes. Erwin let go of his hand and gripped his shoulders, frightening Jean into meeting his gaze again. His blue eyes were now burning with curiosity. 

“You mean to say that you're against this reasoning?”

Jean nodded frantically. “Yes, of course!”

“Any reason?”

Jean swallowed hard. Could he tell him? But what if he told his father? Marco's eyes flashed in front of his own, tear-filled. No, he wouldn't deny it. “Well...I'm like...you.”

Erwin's bushy eyebrows merged with his hairline. “I'll be damned.”

Levi's voice was heard from inside. “You already are according to people, sweetheart.”

Erwin chuckled slightly, and returned his attention to Jean. “Perfect Kirstein's baby boy, huh? I'm guessing he doesn't know?”

Jean shook his head. “No. I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell him...”

“Take a seat.” He noticed Jean's package for the first time. “Did you travel here to deliver something?”

Jean remembered the precise reason why he made this trip, and clumsily handed the tart to Erwin. “My mother gave you this. A get-well-soon gift.”

“Your mother is a sweet person. Give her my thanks. But now we need to talk. I can see that you're troubled.” 

Jean sank down on the couch, Erwin sitting on the couch opposite him. Levi came in at that moment carrying three cups of tea. “I hope you like tea, because I'm not gonna get up again,” he grunted as he dropped down next to Erwin. He draped his legs over Erwin's legs and placed his head on Erwin's shoulders, closing his eyes as he did so. Jean watched him with an unreasonable jealousy. He realised that he would probably never gain this freedom of expressing his affection towards Marco.

Erwin looked down at the petite form of his husband and smiled fondly, one hand unconsciously going to Levi's back. He looked up at Jean, and asked him, “Would you like to tell me everything? I can tell that you are a very conflicted soul, Jean.”

Jean realised that all his emotions were locked behind an ever-weakening dam. He looked into Erwin's kind, reassuring eyes, and felt the dam crumble. He opened his mouth, and the dam burst open, releasing all the pent-up emotion as Jean told this relative stranger everything, from his childhood up till the freckled miracle that went by the name of Marco Bodt. At some point, Levi had turned around slightly, and was now looking at him intently, apparently astonished that the son of such a 'bloody bastard' could hold that depth of emotion. When Jean finished, he drank his slightly cold tea, observing Erwin over the rim of the cup. Two pairs of eyes were scrutinising him, occasionally looking at each other as if communicating in some weird language. When he put down the cup, Erwin cleared his throat.

“Jean, you're a very brave man. Acknowledging your feelings is a huge step forward, and you're lucky to find another brave soul that didn't reject you. At some point, there will come a time when you both feel so strongly for each other, that nothing, not even your parents, can stand in the way. About Marie...that is the problem. But if she truly loves you, and if she truly loves her brother, there shouldn't be a problem. Don't worry about it, Jean. Love always prevails, if you allow it to flourish. The most important step is to accept yourself, which you've already done.”

“How does it feel, being free like this?”

“Amazing. I'm not going to lie; it hurts, hearing what people say about us. But at the end of the day, when I'm back home, all I see is the person I want to spend my entire life with, and I forget the hate, and concentrate on the fact that I'm living my dream with the one person who I want to share it with me.”

Jean could spot Levi's blush that betrayed his emotionless features, and smiled slightly. He realised that he'd lost track of his time, and panicked a bit. “Oh, I think I'll have to go, my mother'll get worried.” He stood up and said, with as much genuine emotion as he could pour into his voice, “Thank you. Thank you for clearing my doubts. I owe you.”

Erwin smiled. “Consider your debt paid when you invite us for your wedding,” he said, winking. Jean blushed, and smiled, nodding. Levi stirred and climbed off Erwin's lap reluctantly. “I'll lead this scamp to the door,” he told Erwin, lowering down slightly to kiss the top of his husband's head. He began walking towards the front door, Jean following meekly in his wake. When Jean had gotten on his horse, he turned round, finding Levi still leaning against the door-frame. A slight smile played on his lips. “Hey, Jean. Drop by sometimes. And don't forget; if you truly love him, nothing will stand in your way.” He mock-saluted, and closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eruri <3 Had to include this ship as well haha  
> Bit of a filler, but mainly an excuse for me to write some Levi *shrugs*  
> Hope you liked it, and thanks for the support :3
> 
> Claire xxx
> 
> P.S: Maybe when I finish this fic, I'll write the Eruri backstory as a separate fic... What do you guys think?


	8. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel!Marco makes an appearance. Not as in dead, as in adorable. I'll stop there now

WARNING: this is just for safety reasons, but there's a description of a panic attack (not graphic, you know, but just to be on the safe side), so if this is a trigger for anyone, I'll mark it so you can skip easily xxx

It had been seven months since that fateful day when Jean Kirstein had fallen completely and irrevocably in love with Marco Bodt. Not that he'd admit to being in love yet. But it was there, lurking at the bottom of his heart, the huge, tiny word that scared him shitless. Love.

He hadn't really considered what falling in love would feel like. He'd always imagined a conventional family setting, with a wife and kids to help on the farms or whatnot. He'd never imagined love to give him such a wild, ecstatic feeling, and he'd certainly never imagined that love would be in the form of a tall, dark-haired freckled monstrosity that had stolen his heart by just one crooked grin.

As he settled himself on the grass next to Marie that Wednesday afternoon (or Picnic Day, as it had become known in the Bodt family), he couldn't help but glance at Marco, who was seated directly opposite him. The latter smiled sweetly at him, making Jean regret his decision of looking at him, because now he wanted to kiss him, and now wasn't exactly the right time or place to reveal that he was harbouring feelings for multiple Bodt offspring. Although they were purely platonic in one of the cases, and it certainly wasn't the case one might expect from him. He positioned himself so that he was tilted towards Marie, catching her hand in his. The small girl looked up at him and smiled, but soon lowered her gaze again, staring morosely at the ground. Jean frowned worriedly. He knew he was being a hypocrite at the moment, as he was the prime suspect for causing her sadness, but he couldn't help worry that something was wrong with her. 

Marie's happiness had been declining since a few months ago. Jean could hardly remember that cheerful, bouncy girl who danced for hours and chattered away without pause till his ears throbbed with pain. She'd become quiet and reserved, and her smiles were stretched and timid, a word that had not yet existed in Marie's dictionary before. Jean was trying to reason out that this strange behaviour was due to the fact that she was embarrassed by her seemingly childish behaviour, and was trying to become more of an adult that would be more suiting of a soon-to-be wife. However, Jean wasn't certain about this theory, as he didn't see how becoming more adult-like would prevent Marie from being cheerful. He decided that he would think about this later on. 

He looked at the blonde maid that had greeted him on that day when he'd come out to Marco. Krista was her name, and Ymir was the name of the other maid of the Bodt household. Where Krista took care of the cleaning house, Ymir's job was to attend to more personal needs, such as cooking, shopping and other odd jobs. Those two were as similar as chalk and cheese. Where the blonde one was small, petite and polite, the taller, dark-haired girl was loud, crass and occasionally quite rude. However, as different as they were, they were quite close to each other, and Ymir was only ever nice towards Krista. They had joined them for today's picnic, as they had been doing for the past few months. It had been a way of how Mr Bodt could eliminate a bit of chaos from his house by sending out anyone under the age of twenty outside while he worked away in his study.

The hours passed by. Jean's face muscles were aching with laughter, and without realising, he'd moved a lot closer to Marco then he'd originally intended to. Marie had remained were she was, occasionally cracking a smile at some joke her brother or Ymir said. Her sadness was the only thing that tarnished Jean's happiness, although it was quickly polished away by Marco grabbing his hand and squeezing it gently when he thought no one was looking.

As the sun hovered low in the sky, dyeing the sky red, they packed the remains of the picnic away and trudged off slowly towards the Bodt manor. Marie had turned sour and snapped at Jean as he offered her a hand when she was struggling to stand up from the grass. He had been taken aback by her anger, and had been hurt more than he dared admit. Marco had frowned a bit at her lashing out, and had chided her gently over it. She was now walking well ahead of them, and Jean felt free to express his worry about her. He needn't whisper, as Krista and Ymir seemed engrossed in a conversation of their own.

“Hey, sweetheart, did something happen to Marie, or is it just me who's noticed something is up with her?”

Marco, who'd smiled slightly at the nickname Jean had adopted, now frowned. This was the first indication Marco had giving that showed that he was, in fact, worried about his sister. “It's true, she hasn't been her usual self in a while... Nothing unusual happened at home...she's quite normal when she's alone... she doesn't talk to me as much, though. Maybe she's going through puberty?”

Jean agreed that that could be a possible occurring, having vaguely terrifying memories of his own sister passing through that period of time. However, it still didn't quieten the fear instilled in his heart that something bad was about to happen. 

As they arrived at the Bodt's front door, Jean made to say farewell and head home, but Marco caught his hand discreetly and whispered, “Stay for a while.”

Jean swallowed at the husky quality of Marco's voice, and nodded mutely, not trusting his voice.

They'd done this several times before. They disappear off to the garden with the excuse of Marco showing off the newly converted garden-enthusiast Jean some new bush that had burst into bloom or some other kind of (increasingly lamer) excuse to kiss under the huge trees, or lie together on a patch of grass, holding each other and just staring at each other and the sky and the trees around them, like in some sappy romantic novel Jean's mother enjoyed reading. These small acts of love were enough to keep Jean going, to keep his heart alive, and beating for a reason. Marco seemed to be the only reason why he existed. But Marco inevitably reminded him of all the things he could've been, but wasn't, and of the happy face of Marie, which he hadn't seen for months. But when the doubts kicked in, Erwin's deep voice would echo in his mind, and he'd remember Levi's small, rare miracle of a smile, and his resolve would harden again, and his devotion to Marco would renew and, if possible, increase. 

However, today was different. 

Mr Bodt opened the door for them, which was an unusual occurrence in itself. He looked at the tired group of teens sternly, moving out of the way to let them pass. He dismissed Ymir and Krista with a wave of his hand, and called Marie to his side, placing a hand on her shoulder awkwardly, as if he wasn't used to expressing such small gestures of affection. 

Jean was terrified. All kinds of thoughts were bouncing around in his mind, echoing dully in the suddenly hollow husk that was his brain. 

When he spoke, his voice was harsh and rough, unusually so, for a man of his stature. “Marco, and my soon-to-be son-in-law, Jean, I have kept you here so that I can impart the news that I've been carefully considering this week. Your sister, Marco, and your fiancée, Jean, came up to me last week with a preposition; the wedding has been moved to a closer date. It will happen, not in two years time, as it was originally planned, but in a few months time. Five months, to be precise.”

Jean's heart forgot what beating meant. It froze still, as did the breath he'd been inhaling, frozen midway through his mouth. Glancing covertly at Marco confirmed that the older boy was going through the same kind of shock. Neither of them saw Marie's eyes follow the gaze, and her thinly pressed lips shook with sadness.

Mr Bodt had continued his rambling, ignoring the horrified boys slowly allowing themselves to resume breathing in an effort to appear normal. [A/N: panic attack in 3...2...1...] He was saying something about Marie's unbreakable love for Jean or something, and Jean could feel the bile in his stomach slowly rising, gagging him. He fought it down along with the anxiety and the panic that it brought along with it. His hands and feet tingled unpleasantly, and his eyes felt on the verge of watering, and they began shutting on their own accord. His stomach felt as if it was dancing the lambada while killing itself in the process. Suddenly, his heart-beats sounded very loud and very clear in his ears, going faster, and faster, and his breathing was coming faster, his head swirled, and he could make out distant yells, a pair of hands reaching out and gripping his shirt collar and the front of his shirt, and a white expanse of face, broken by the slightly darkening pepper-sprinkle of freckles...

Marco...

Then he couldn't see anything but darkness, and the only sounds he heard where the drum roll of his heart-beats, and a distant voice of an angel. [A/N: ok it's over- if anyone didn't read it, it's basically just Jean having an attack while Angel!Marco swoops in to save him] 

Jean woke up in a familiar room. Not his own, but Marco's. The owner of the room was seated on a chair next to him, stirring sugar into tea and watching him intently. As soon as Jean's eyes opened a fraction, Marco stood up, adjusting the wet cloth on Jean's forehead and placing two cool fingers against Jean's neck to check for fever. He clucked worriedly and left the room without a word, presumably to call Ymir.

When he woke up again, it was to bright sunlight. Marco was sitting next to him again, his head hanging down on his chest, fast asleep. Jean felt a weight on his legs, and when he looked down, he found Marie, also fast asleep, her skirts billowing out under her, her hair a bird's nest. He carefully slid from underneath the covers, feeling quite normal. He took a pillow from the bed and carefully rested Marco's head on it, so that he was leaning towards the wall. He took the remaining pillow and gently lifted Marie's head from were it had fallen from its position on Jean's legs, and placed it on the pillow. Then he sat back, his back braced to the headboard, thinking.

The panic attack had taken him by surprise. He had suffered from them when he was younger, but he'd thought that he'd finally grew out of that phase. Seemed to him they were here to stay, for the time-being. 

The fact that the wedding had been moved to FIVE months from now caused his breathing to become uneven. He fought against it, keeping his mind empty and clear, forcing his lungs to fill up with air, and release again, slowly, evenly. It had been at a safe distance. In two years, a lot of things could have happened. He might have mastered enough courage. Marie might've fallen for someone else. Who knows? But now there was no chance of escape, no happy ending. 

He would have to end it with Marco. But how could he ever look him in the eye again, even if they agreed to remain friends? How could he, when he remembered the taste of him, and the passion burning in those huge, brown eyes?

Someone stirred next to him, and Jean turned round to find Marco yawning, blinking his eyes to remove the sleepiness that still clung to them. They landed on Jean, and they softened immediately. They looked at each other, each wondering at how fragile and vulnerable sleep made the other look, each finding new aspects of beauty they had never observed before. But then, Marco's eyes darkened with worry, and Jean felt a tight clenching in his stomach as he caught the visible change in Marco's mood.

He said, softly, so as not to wake Marie, “Sweetheart, what is it?”

Marco shook his head. “It'll worry you more, Jean. Rest, I'll tell you when you're better.”

“Marco.”

Marco shook his head again, but he seemed to be wavering. Jean tilted his head slightly, and Marco sighed. He got up from the chair and settled himself next to Jean, moving his mouth close to Jean's ears. When he spoke, his breath hitting Jean's neck sent shivers running down his spine.

“Promise me you won't worry too much.”

“I'll try.”

“Fair enough.” Marco breathed in, and uttered three short words. Like another three short words, they had a severe impact on Jean's heart-beat, but rather than joy, it was fear. Fear and dread.

“Marie saw us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eh, quite awful, to be expected seeing as finals are approaching so *yay*  
> I did try though  
> Hopefully my effort is enough  
> for all you Eruri trash out there, I've already got a rough plot sketched in my brain, might be posting a summary at some point in the near future.
> 
> well then adieu  
> love you and thanks for supporting me :D  
> Claire xxxxxxx


	9. Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eh, title makes it pretty obs. Dilemmaaaasssssssss  
> (this is a bit shorter compared to other chapters, but only coz next chapter is very eventful)

Jean couldn't believe it. He gripped Marco's shoulders, shaking him slightly. “What?” he hissed frantically.

Marco's eyes widened, and he quickly said, “Shh! You'll wake her—”

Marie stirred, yawned, and opened her eyes.

“--up.” Marco finished slowly, trying to move away from Jean as fast as he could without attracting Marie's attention, but failing as soon as Marie's sleepy eyes fell on them. They froze guiltily, as though they'd been caught red-handed in a crime. Her face immediately crumpled and dropped back on the bed, buried in her multitude of skirts.

Jean lowered his own face slowly in his face, cursing himself for his absolute and complete idiocy. Marco made as if to move closer to his sister, but she shied away from him, shoulders shaking with unshed tears. 

Her muffled, broken voice spoke then. “I'm sorry I've been... like this these past few months...”

Jean, who couldn't bear to see her in such a sorry state, immediately said, “It's my fucking fault, Marie, please...”

Marco stopped him, placing his hand gently on Jean's arm. “Don't interrupt her.” He said to Marie, “Go on, Rie. Don't be afraid.”

He moved towards her again, and this time she didn't shy away, but rather flung herself at him, throwing her arms around him and burying her head in the crook of his neck, silent tears falling from her eyes and making wet patches on the shoulders of Marco's shirt. “Oh, Marco, I'm sorry...” she wailed, breaking Jean's heart as the guilt in his stomach settled there like a dead weight, constricting his breath. 

“Shh, sweetie, it's al going to be fine...”

“It's just that...I never thought Jean...and you...I...I love him, Marco...but I love you too... I want you to be happy...”

“We'll figure something out. We can make a few sacrifices here and there, can't we?”

“But it's wrong...”

Marco said, sharply, “What is?”

Marie looked up at him, startled at his tone, tears caught in her long lashes. “Oh, you know, Jean having to sacrifice everything.”

Marco breathed out. “So, me and Jean are normal, right?”

“Of course. What is abnormal in love, brother?”

Marco closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his sister's. “God, I love you, you know that, right?”

Marie smiled through her tears, and said softly, “I love you too, you stupid. And you too, Jean,” she added, glancing at the boy still leaning against the headboard for support. “Come over here.”

They ended up in a bundle on the bed, Marie sprawled in between her brother and her fiancé, staring at the ceiling. “I won't tell anyone, you know,” she said softly into the silence. “You guys are way too important to me. It's just such a weird mess, isn't it just?”

Jean laced his fingers through Marie's and squeezed gently. “You know, I do love you, Marie. But...”

“...not in the way I do you, I guess, eh?” She said this gently, but it still drove in nails of guilt inside Jean's heart. How could she not hate them, they who had lied to her, hid from her, concealed all that was true and fed her only lies? 

Then Jean was saved (yet again) (and quite literally) by the bell, as the Church bells went off in a cacophony of rolling clangs. He sat bolt upright, disrupting their delicate balance and almost sending the other two flying off the bed. “SHIT—I mean, eh... shoot! My mother must be going NUTS right now bye bye bye.” 

He kissed Marie's forehead, and hesitated slightly over Marco, but Marie just laughed at him and and waved him on. He kissed Marco's forehead too, noticing how Marco's eyes fluttered close at the contact. He waved one last time, and ran out, riding like the wind, until he reached his house, only barely managing to sneak in without his mother noticing his absence. 

He lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. God damn, it had been an eventful morning. Marie's tears merged with Marco's saddened face and his conflicting emotions of guilt and love. What was the right thing to do? Was there even a right way to go to now? If he abandoned Marie, where would that leave her? Would it be easy for her to move on, maybe get engaged to a man who truly loved her? And what would happen if he chose her instead? Would she be happy, knowing he wasn't truly in love with her, knowing that he was hurting? What would Marco say, react, feel? Oh Lord, he thought desperately, why me? I'm a mess, I can't handle this...

MARIE'S P.O.V

Marie walked slowly to her room, her head spinning. Her heart was beating irregularly, and with each beat, a different emotion surged around her body. Love, guilt, sadness, confusion, loneliness...

She had thought herself the luckiest girl on Earth, but apparently things would not be so. When she had thought she could finally settle in with a loving (and admittedly hot) husband, turns out her husband would rather be with her brother. She didn't feel repulsed by that, not at all. Personally, she couldn't really understand the stigma centred around people like her brother. She had always liked Mr Levi from the neighbouring town, and had been quite sad to know he'd quit the job due to the pressure he'd been facing. And now, she was going to have to help Jean. But she couldn't stop herself from feeling a tiny flicker of resentment deep down in her heart. 

She sighed angrily. Why her? What had she ever done to deserve this? Why did she give away her heart so easily? Foolish child, she scolded herself, how naïve can you be? How could you have not seen it before?

She wanted to get married, desperately. She wanted to fall into a secure, orderly routine, have kids to look after and a husband to look at her fondly. But she quickly realised what childish dreams these were. Marriage was not all about being perfectly in love. It involved a level of maturity that consisted of patience and unconditional love. She was clearly not exhibiting these traits very well. Unconditional love, huh?

Marie sat up from where she had been lying on her bed, eyes blazing with a sudden thought. She had foolishly said that she was in love with Jean. But being in love was different than loving someone. Being in love means you like the idea of someone and loving the perfect form that you imagined them to be. Loving someone is different. Loving someone meant loving every part of the real person, the flaws, the perfect little things, the annoying things, the way they make you feel on the inside... Unconditionally.

And what was she doing? Judging him for the fact that he loved her brother. Very unconditional, Marie, well done. Unconditional meant you'd want the best for the other person, right? 

And just like that, she decided.

JEAN'S P.O.V AGAIN

During the course of the next few weeks, Jean mulled things over and over, and if possible, over again. He avoided Marie when he could, and he and Marco talked about it almost everyday, and sometimes it ended with one of them in tears. It's not that they fought, it was only the unbearable, crushing weight that their baby sister (for Jean had started referring to her, unconsciously, as just that) was being hurt. And there was were the dilemma started. Where they to sacrifice their love for a loveless wedding? Jean couldn't even begin to think of all the responsibilities he'd have to face as a married man, the most worrying one being child-bearing. He flinched just by hearing the word “children”. Being unwaveringly attracted to the male side of the population meant having an inherent dislike for...how should he put it...holes?

Sitting on his bed having this internal debate, Jean could feel his face heating up gradually at the thought of 'holes'. Shuddering, he resumed the debate, vowing never to use the word 'holes' ever again.

The fact that the wedding day was slowly crawling nearer and nearer was also panicking Jean more than he liked to admit. It was, after all, a constant reminder that he had to make a choice, and he had to make it now. He couldn't dawdle any more. Would he choose the way he should choose, and go ahead with the wedding, or should he choose the true way, and leave Marie to face the music on her own?

Then he thought of his parents. The guilt he felt because of what he was making Marie pass through doubled at the thought of what his mother would say. He didn't really mind being ridiculed and shouted at by his father, because that was to be expected after Levi's reaction to him, but what would his mother say? He curled up in a ball on his bed, rocking gently back and forth. If he would have to make a decision, he wouldn't do it for him, or for Marie, or even for Marco. It would be for his mother, who had been so proud and happy that her baby boy had come so far.

He stood up, and with a determined, if saddened, glint in his eye, he set off to the Bodt Manor.

He had come to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a meh chapter really, because I was writing this late (again) and rushing a bit.  
> I also recently came out as a Pan/Demisexual?? (is that even smth what) so i was also a bit blergh over that
> 
> (this is my THIRD coming out in as many days ahaha what)
> 
> adios and NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE BETTER 
> 
> Claire xxxxxxxxxxxxxx


	10. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eh, I ain't gonna spoil anything, but read with caution.  
> it's one HARD decision they have to make
> 
> (sorry. I'm bad at puns.  
> you'll understand it l8er  
> hopefully)

As he saddled Fury, Jean repeated the same phrase over and over again; I love him. I love him. I love him.

It was no news that he loved Marco, but it was terribly annoying to accept that on the day when he was going to ask him to push him out of his life.

He had come to a decision, a terrible, harsh, brutal one, but one that both him and Marco knew was going to have to be chosen. It seemed as if they'd been fated to suffer, to fall in love only to be torn out of it again, as tragic as Shakespearean lovers. Love was like a flower that bloomed in summer, only to die from the scorching heat, as short-lived as a summer breeze. 

His thoughts skipped with each bump of his horse as it went flying down the path towards Marco, thoughts about Marie, about his parents, about the courage of Levi and Erwin, but mostly about Marco. What on earth was Marco going to say? Would he understand, or would he just call him selfish? Would his face crumple? Would his eyes lower and overflow with tears, as something inside him would break forever?

Why did love hurt so much?

A low voice in his head said, Because it was real.

And at that, the tears began falling, streaking across his cheeks as the wind burnt his eyes. 

He arrived at the Bodt Manor way too fast, faster then he'd intended. He'd wanted more time to sort out his thoughts, but apparently God was cruel, and he was going to make an utter fool of himself even now, on this last occasion at being completely sincere to Marco.

He walked up to the door, which loomed up at him, glaring at the bearer of bad-news with a blank ferocity that made Jean shiver nervously. He knocked, the sound echoing through the house like a funeral bell. 

The door cracked open, and a small face peered round from inside. Jean sighed with relief. It was Krista; he'd been afraid that he'd bolt if Marco had opened the door. He couldn't quite eliminate the shaking in his voice as he asked her, “Is Marco in?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. He's in his room.”

Jean swallowed. Now or never, Jean, he thought. He steeled himself, and nodded briefly. “Thanks, Krista.”

She opened the door to allow him in, and watched him as he made his shaky way to the stairs, frowning slightly at the unusual behaviour. She shrugged it off and set her mind to the afternoon off later on that day, with Ymir, who'd promised to make it an unforgettable one.

Meanwhile, Jean crawled slowly up the stairs, hoping against hope that he would find Marco asleep, or something, a hindrance that would relieve him from this duty. But of course, luck was not on his side, and before he was even halfway up the stairs, Jean heard the bed creak, and the sound of bare feet approaching the stairs. 

Jean ran up the remaining stairs, capturing the emerging Marco in a rib-cracking hug. Marco, who appeared to have only just woken up, caught Jean on reflex, looking slightly bewildered at the open onslaught of affection. Jean held on tightly, willing himself to not cry, not now at least. He wanted to treasure every last moment he had with him, store it all carefully in his memory. 

“What's wrong?” Marco's worried voice cut through Jean's discordant thoughts cleanly, reminding Jean exactly what the purpose of the visit was.

His voice shook harder as he said, “I need to talk to you, Marco.”

Marco's eyes widened, and the light inside them dimmed. Jean's heart ached. He hated being the cause of Marco's sadness, and here he was, bringing with him the dark clouds that would block out Marco's happiness forever.

They sat down on the bed, cross-legged, facing each other. Jean reached over and grabbed Marco's hands, and held them in his own. Marco frowned as he realised that Jean's hands were shaking as well. He stroked them, trying to comfort Jean, although a vague uneasiness was beginning to settle like a fog over his mind. 

Jean met Marco's eyes, memorising every tiny detail, every individual freckle on Marco's face, the distinctly different shades of brown mingling together in his eyes, the way he chewed on his bottom lip when he was worried, the soft hair through which Jean had often ran his fingers through. This man, who had returned a feeling that he'd never thought could ever be returned. The person he'd always dreamed of. He though involuntarily of Levi and Erwin, and felt a twinge of irrational jealousy. He'd never be able to get that blissful happiness they shared.

“Listen Marco, let's talk like reasonable adults.” Every word sent a jarring spike of hurt in his heart, and he wondered if Marco was feeling a similar pain. “What we have is real. Undeniable. Beautiful. But selfish. We thought only of ourselves. We didn't think of the whole picture. Marie... my mother... your parents... what would they say if we cancel the wedding? We'd suffer so much...” 

Marco withdrew his hands from Jean's, face closing off and becoming blank. Jean felt despair, black and overwhelming, rise up inside him. He was reaching for Marco across an ever-increasing void, into which he was falling, but Marco was turning his back on him.

He began again, voice rising petulantly in his ears. “Marco, please, hear me out...”

Marco lashed out, his voice low and brimming with uncharacteristic rage. “It's all about you, isn't it? If we were to finish this, you would always be looked upon as the perfect son, as the one who always got things right. You're not the boy whose father threatened to evict him if he ever confronted another boy about his feelings.”

Jean, shocked, whispered, “You never said...”

Marco spat back, “You never asked. Go. Leave. Live a happy life and never look at me again.”

Jean felt the tears overflow, but didn't bother to wipe them away. He got up from the bed and turned around, pausing at the door. Marco was looking at him, his mouth a thin, angry line, and Jean thought, he can't possibly get any madder at me now. So he said it. The revelation that had hit him that morning poured out of his mouth suddenly, almost without conscious thought.

“I love you.”

Marco's face crumpled suddenly. It was as if all the will to be mad at Jean had dissolved into ashes, all the resolve both of them had put into ending this gone with the wind. Jean was unsure of what to do, until Marco stood up and moved towards him, wrapping him in a hug and whispering, “I love you too, you doofus.”

“I'm sorry I had to make you go through that--”

“No, no, I'm sorry I reacted like that. You're right, of course. I'd been thinking about it too, recently. It's just that I really don't want this to end.”

“For our little sister's sake, then.”

“Yeah, for her.”

They parted slightly from each other, Marco doing what Jean had been doing a few minutes ago, recording every single detail of Jean in his memory, from those eyes, which held so much emotion and passion, to the fine bone structure that gave him a regal, imperial look, and back to those eyes, which were currently fixed on his, latched on them as if they were the most beautiful things Jean had ever seen.

“I love you,” Jean repeated, in a tone both wondering and reverent, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening to him. “More than anything. And if we were not meant to be in this life, we will meet again in the next one, and the next, and the next one too, and fall in love over and over again, because you and I, we're meant to be together. The stars,” and here he pointed at Marco's freckles, “have already mapped out our futures. So, I will love you, Marco Bodt, until we meet again in the next lifetime, so I can fall in love with you all over again.”

Marco was crying hard now, the words coming out of Jean's mouth like a balm to soothe his aching heart, the realisation that yes, this was all going to end.

Marco's heart suddenly sped up when Jean's hands ran down the length of his body and rested low on his hips, his eyes half-closing with an intensity Marco had only seen in brief flashes. The gaze directed towards him almost knocked him over with its fiery passion, and he swallowed hard to try and remain in control of his actions. This was quickly scrapped when Jean spoke again, in a voice made husky with sudden want, sending Marco's thoughts spiralling out of control as his body took over.

“Let's make today unforgettable.”

Marco's brain was sending him alert signals, but his body had long since abandoned rational thought. He closed the minuscule gap between his mouth and Jean's with a kiss that held almost the same intensity as those eyes, hands roaming over Jean's body and through his hair. They both began moving towards the bed without any further prompting, still not breaking off the kiss.

They fell back on the bed, breaking the kiss as they did so. Jean was lying on top of Marco, his legs in between Marco's, hands on either side of his face. He looked down at the flushed face, and felt his one face heat up. He was suddenly unsure. He didn't know what he was meant to do now. He'd heard of the act of lovemaking, but he really was sure it worked for them. 

Marco seemed to have guessed Jean's train of thought. He took Jean's hands and guided them slowly to his shirt. Jean unbuttoned it slowly, fumbling slightly as his hands shook with the intensity of emotion he was experiencing right now. He managed to free Marco of his shirt, and he took a moment to notice the fact that Marco's freckles were not limited to his face, but were scattered all over his torso. Acting on a sudden, wild impulse, Jean leaned down and kissed a line of freckles stretching from Marco's throat to his shoulders. Marco's hands, which had gone impulsively around Jean, gripped him suddenly like a vice, breath coming out in a gasp, back arching against the mattress. Suddenly, Jean felt the cold air against his back and realised Marco had managed to somehow tear away his shirt, and was currently getting his revenge as he trailed a line of kisses down Jean's bare torso.

A few minutes later and both of them were down to a last barrier of clothing. They were both breathing hard. Marco's eyes were closed, maybe in an effort to remain calm, or to stop himself from eliciting an unexpected sound. Jean ran cool fingers across Marco's flushed cheeks, stroking the hair out of his face, kissing his forehead gently. It had been like this for the last few minutes; white-hot intensity paired with heart-achingly sweet gestures. Marco opened his eyes, which shone brightly with tears. Jean threw a questioning look at him, and Marco answered slowly. “I'm so happy to be here with you, Jean,” he said, his voice low and sweet. “I'm also terribly, terribly sad, but knowing that you love me, love me this much, it will stop me from going insane.”

Jean couldn't hold back for much longer. “Are you sure about this?”

Marco nodded. “I...I love you, Jean.”

Jean lowered himself slowly on Marco, and whispered, “I love you too. So, so much.”

And with that, the final barrier was gone. And when they became one, Marco couldn't help the tears that flowed down his cheeks.

…..

Jean woke up. He couldn't quite place where he was. Upon realising that there was another human being next to him, deep in slumber, he remembered exactly were he was and exactly what he'd done. Marco shifted next to him, his arms, which were around Jean, hugging Jean closer to him. 

Jean panicked slightly. What time was it? By the dim light coming in through the windows, it was already evening. He untangled himself from Marco with some difficulty. Marco moaned slightly in his sleep, bringing back to Jean memories of last night, which made him blush ferociously again. As if sensing the empty space on the bed, Marco awoke, looking blearily at Jean as he dressed. Jean turned round to find Marco, lying on his back, propped up on his elbows. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on Marco's lips, a final farewell. No tears were shed now. Marco got out and dressed up too, and together they waited for Marie to return from wherever she'd gone (the reason why the house had seemed so eerily empty before). 

As soon as she came, she immediately noticed their agitated states, and excusing herself from her parents, she walked towards them, smiling sweetly in a way Jean hadn't seen her smile in months.

When they got into the room, she sat them down on the bed, and said, “Well?”

Jean took a deep breath in. “Marco and I have talked about this long and hard, and we've come to a mutual agreement that we'll move on from this...thing we have, and to allow the marriage to happen normally.”

Marie's face lit up immediately. “Oh Jean! I knew you'd say that! I know my fiancé very well. I was confident you'd say that. Which is why I'm so happy to give you my piece of news now.”

Jean looked confusedly at Marco, who shrugged, clearly as lost as Jean himself felt at the moment.

“Well, you see, I've made my decision very long ago, but I wanted to give you your space to come up with a decision yourself. I love you, Jean. Unconditionally. Which is what got me thinking. I want you to be happy. Being locked up with me for the rest of your life won't bring you that. Hush,” she said, as Jean began to protest at that.

“I've come to a decision too. 

“The wedding is cancelled. I cannot marry you, Jean. I will face my parents' wrath myself.”

Jean was gob-smacked. He couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard. But over the rising joy, he couldn't think of allowing Marie to face all that alone. “No Marie, not alone.”

He stood up, and Marco followed suit. He reached for Marco's hand and grabbed it, then did the same with Marie. “We face them – together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHA   
> bet you didn't expect THAT  
> (bet you did)  
> well that was unusually stressful to write waw
> 
> thanks for the kudos and comments guys :D you give me the will to write xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
> Claire xxx


	11. Truth (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco is a sassy little shit  
> That's it, that's the chapter

Marie was on the verge of tears. She grasped their hands firmly in an effort to hold back the tears. It had evidently taken all her willpower to say all that, and Jean's admiration for her had increased greatly, but he could not remove the niggling feelings of guilt he still felt at seeing the obvious pain in those huge, brown eyes.

It was Marco who broke the silence that followed, with a question that shocked the other two into reality. “How shall we break it to them, then?”

After last night, Jean seemed to have developed an ability to sense Marco's feelings through his words. Jean could never quite read Marco before, but now, he found himself able to detect the vast abyss of terror the calm, collected words held behind them. He remembered what Marco had said about his father, and all his bravado faded away as he realised that nothing was all right yet. 

Marie surprised them both by saying, with a sudden wild flare of rage, “You've done nothing wrong, brother. Our father is a stupid, stupid man. I hate him. I hate him!!”

Marco's eyes widened at such harsh words, and Marie gasped in a breath at her own words, and her brother's arms went around her at that moment, lifting her up as if she was still a toddler, holding her as the tears she'd kept at bay flooded in, ran his fingers through her hair and down her back, soothing her as she shook and cried and raged against him. Jean felt as if he was intruding in a private moment, and almost felt the urge to avert his gaze at such a display of raw emotion. Marco's love for his sister was evident; he'd have rather sacrificed his own happiness than see his sister hurting, and it seemed to Jean that Marie loved him, if possible, even more. Jean felt a sudden yearn for his own sister. 

As he was wondering what she might be doing at this particular moment, he became aware that Marie's sobs had quietened down, and Marco had lowered her back on her own feet. Marco seemed to choose his next words carefully, as he began tentatively, “Do...do you know what exactly Father...eh...said to me?”

“He threatened to evict you.”

Marco nodded slowly. “I will be evicted when I tell him, you know. And, although I may be a hypocrite for saying this, but don't hate Father. He loves you a lot, and he was always nice to you. You can't really blame him for being pig-headed. It is the stigma of these times.”

Marco's voice faded out of Jean's hearing. Upon hearing the word 'stigma', Jean began wondering exactly how he was going to break the news to his mother. The abyss behind Marco's words had been waiting to overwhelm Jean too, and here it was now, pulling at his legs, making him light-headed. Without realising it, his hands grasped at each other, clasping and unclasping rhythmically until Marco's larger, warmer hands closed on them, holding them still. Jean realised that he was staring, wide-eyed, at a single patch of Persian carpet, and by Marco's worried look and Marie's teary gaze, they'd been calling him for a while now. “I'm sorry,” he apologised, still slightly dazed, still feeling as if everything was slowly unravelling. “It...it just hit me too.”

Marco's arms went around him, catching him in a hug that was so gentle Jean would never have believed that Marco could love with a much deeper, stronger passion, had he not spent the night in his arms and experienced what it really felt like to be loved, and truly cherished, by Marco Bodt, to be made to feel as if you're the only person that really mattered in this violent, discordant, unfair world. Marco seemed to gather Jean's train of thought, as he squeezed him just a bit tighter, as if to assure himself that they had lived through such an experience together.

However, that moment was broken by the sound of the front door closing, and the low rumble of Mr Bodt's voice was heard coming from the front hall. Marco blanched immediately, and sought comfort from Jean by grabbing his hand. Jean squeezed it firmly, and Marie, having mopped up her tears, patted his back. Marco nodded, steeling himself for the inevitable. When he made to let go of Jean's hand, Jean only held on tighter. When confronted with Marco's puzzled look, Jean only shrugged. “I can't allow you to go through this on your own.”

Marco bit his lips to prevent the tears from pouring out of his eyes. He'd known Jean was the kindest human being he'd ever known, and had fallen in love with him purely because of that fact. But to hear such genuine emotion from this boy, who was scared half to death by the premonition that he was going to have to go through this himself later on, and was now offering to face his trauma with him, was almost too much for Marco's fragile emotions. Marie watched them, and for a moment, Marco caught a look of envy flash fleetingly across her face, and felt a pang of sadness for his sister, who had offered so much support while trying to hide her own, deep sadness. 

He realised that both Jean and Marie were waiting for him. “Let's go, then,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. And so they went, Jean still holding on to Marco's hand, Marie walking beside her brother, lacing her arm through his. 

As soon as their footsteps rang in the quiet emptiness of the hall, Mr Bodt looked up from where he was speaking to Ymir, and his eyes immediately landed on Jean and Marco's intertwined hands. His eyes immediately hardened, and Jean felt Marco's step falter. He half-paused, looking up at Marco, but the brief moment of terror was gone, replaced by a solid wall of determination. Jean remembered the reasons why he'd fallen in love, remembered losing himself in Marco's eyes, those eyes that never betrayed, that always showed clear emotions, and felt a rush of that same emotion fill him, building up his courage to confront his own parents with the same calm confidence that Marco was now displaying. Marie's face was a set mask of cool confidence, but the small stream of tears that constantly slid down her cheeks betrayed her inner turmoil. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they came to a stop in front of Mr Bodt. 

Ymir, who had still been standing there, behind, and therefore out of sight of, Mr Bodt, goggled at them, wide-eyed. Jean felt the rage begin to rise, to be stopped abruptly when Ymir's mouth widened in a huge grin and mouthed 'I thought so' in the direction of their linked hands. Jean risked a glance at Mr Bodt. He was boring holes in his son's eyes, so Jean felt it safe to mouth back, 'You and Krista?', and received the confirming (not to mention enthusiastic) nod. That was to be the end of their conversation, however, as at that moment, Marco's father turned on Ymir and dismissed her. As she was walking away, Jean swore he could see her laughing silently. Then, all other thoughts vanished from his head as he met the gaze of the man he'd once looked up to.

The man in question looked disgusted and horrified, but because Jean had suddenly become an expert in reading emotions, he could sense an underlying sadness. Bodt hadn't expected his beloved son to defy him so completely. He might have even thought that his son had been 'cured' out of whatever fancy had taken over his mind. Little did he know that there's nothing to cure in love.

Finally, he spoke. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Surprisingly, it was Marie who spoke first, her voice quivering slightly. “We came to tell you that my wedding with Jean is going to be cancelled. I do not wish to interfere between two people who love each other.” She put a slight emphasis on the word 'love', to be rewarded by a flinch from her father which sent a jar of ice flying in Jean's direction, where it lodged in his heart and froze it over.

“Love, huh. More like direct defiance against all that is normal.”

“What do you define from love, Father?” It was Marco who spoke now, in a cool, collected voice that sounded nothing like his usual gentle tones. 

His father wouldn't even look at him when he answered. “A bond between a man and a woman.”

“It is a bond between two people who feel strongly for each other, whatever the gender, Father! How can you be so close minded? Do you know how inevitable love is?”

“You should have fought your urges.”

Marco sighed in exasperation. “You're impossible.”

“And you,” said his father, his anger evident now, “are disgusting. Get out of my house. Now.” He rounded on Jean, who shrank back unconsciously. “And you piece of dirt, I don't ever want to see you again. You defiled my son.”

Marco placed himself between Jean and his father, acting as a human barrier. “Do not speak to him, Father,” he said, in a cold rage. “Your voice is not worthy to fall on his ears.” He turned on his father, towards Jean, towards love, and said, “Let's go.”

Marco all but dragged Jean with him, Marie following in their wake, leaving Mr Bodt standing alone in his solitary hall, brimming with rage. Marco packed hurriedly, and soon, his few possessions were bundled up in a small case. He hugged his sister, who promised fervently to keep in touch, and who whispered, “I'm so proud of you, brother,” in his ear as he was breaking the hug. Then, he took Jean's hand again and together, they walked out of the Bodt Manor. 

Marco never once looked back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a short chapter, and also later than usual (tsk tsk tsk) (i have to study too guys) (help)  
> Split a long chapter in two, coz it would've been superlong
> 
> stay tuned for Eruri guest starring in next chapter hey hey hey
> 
> thanks for comments and kudos guys, I can't believe how well received this fic has been :3  
> you guys are the reason why I smile sometimes :D thank you so much xxxx  
> Claire xxxx


	12. Home (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eruri strikes again. Wild Hanji appears. Jean's mom is Beautiful Cinnamon Roll Too Good For This World, Too Pure
> 
> yeah that's basically it
> 
> [bear with me I'm super extra exhausted today]

As they were halfway to Jean's house, Marco started noticing that Jean was becoming paler and paler, and the death grip he had on Fury's reigns was enough to deduct the internal turmoil the boy was going through at that very moment. His own heart was still racing from his bitter encounter with his father, and he was still simmering with a rage that was only cooling at the sight of Jean's oncoming ordeal. Hi tightened his grip around Jean's waist, placing his chin on Jean's shoulder. Jean's ribs felt exposed under his arms, and he remembered with a rush of giddy emotions how it felt like to run his hands down the length of them, and feel Jean shiver against him. Jean absent-mindedly detached one hand from the reigns and placed it briefly on Marco's nearest cheek, swiftly passing his thumb along the cheekbone before returning his hand to the reigns. 

The house crept nearer, and the emotions flitting on Jean's face ranged from determination to fear to fierce passion, the same that burned deep in Jean's core, the passion unleashed at the height of emotion, the passion leaking from Jean and embracing Marco. 

And then they were there. Marco untangled his arms from around Jean and got off first, giving him space to breath and relax. Jean passed his hands in front of his eyes, once, twice, pressing at his eyeballs, tugging at stray locks of hair that had ventured on his forehead. Finally, he looked up. His hands, which had been balled at his sides, loosened. 

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” Then, without another word, he began moving towards his house. He knocked twice, not hesitating, and his mother opened up immediately. Jean seemed to realise that he'd spent the night away again, and only now did it dawn to him that his mother would be worried about him. She opened her mouth to say something, maybe reproach him about not telling her before, when she noticed Marco standing awkwardly some distance away. Maybe it was the angle at which his body faced Jean, or something in his eyes, or the way they travelled over Jean's face, as loving and soft as a caress, but something gave him away, and that something widened Jean's mother's eyes by a fraction, so tiny her son didn't even notice it. How often had she seen that look reflected in another person's eyes, to become so acquainted with the sight of it?

Her voice was soft when she spoke. “Come inside, sweetheart. And you too, Marco dear,” she added, raising her voice slightly. The older boy moved as if steered by a puppeteer, and when they were both inside, she closed the door gently behind them. “Take a seat. I take it Mr Bodt didn't travel all this way just to see you safe home, eh, Jean boy?”

“Mum...”

“Oh, please, Mrs Kirchstein, just Marco is fine.”

“Well, Marco then, to what do I owe this pleasure of having you here?”

Jean looked as if he was going to wet his pants. He caught Marco's eyes briefly, a look that didn't go unnoticed by his mum, who only confirmed what she'd known for a very long time. 

Jean turned on his mother, and it broke her to see the pain and fear at the threshold of his eyes, held back only by strong determination. His next words brought tears to her eyes at their raw sincerity. 

“Mama, I love you a lot, you do know that, right?”

He hadn't called her Mama for a very long time now, and it took all her willpower to stop the tears from running down her cheeks. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Will you love me, even if I may not always please you?”

“Sweetheart, no matter what you do, I will always love you, and I'll love you no less than I do. I can only love you more.”

Jean nodded, swallowing hard. “Mama, I'm not going to marry Marie.”

She nodded, knowing what's coming next.

“I'm in love with Marco, Mama.”

The tears spilled then, and she was terrified that he'd think that she was disappointed in him, when in fact she felt pride, fierce, raw pride that her son had admitted, and had defied all the nonsensical norms of their town, all in the name of love. She saw his eyes begin to harden, and she managed to choke out one word, “Proud.”

She breathed in, and formed a proper sentence. “I'm...so proud...of you, Jean boy.”

His eyes widened, and relief crashed through the barriers held up by his fear and spilled out of his eyes as tears. He reached up and clung to her, arms round her neck, squeezing what little breath she'd managed to get out again. Marco was slumped in his chair, relief having apparently drained his energy. When Jean let go of his mother, she gestured to him, and he stood uncertainly and moved closer. When he was close enough, she threw her arms round him and hugged him with the same motherly warmth she'd embraced her son with. The surprising gesture of motherliness brought unexpected tears in his eyes, reminding him of the contrasting coldness in his own father's eyes.

They sat down, and she told them that she'd known about Jean from quite a while ago, a she'd spotted the signs that she'd seen in her very own brother. However, her brother had never had the courage or will to defy the norms, and had married a woman. They, in turn, told her what happened at Marco's house, and her face hardened with resentment and sympathy towards Marco.

“...and now he has no house to live in,” Jean ended, linking his hands with Marco's, feeling strange that he could do such a simple action so freely and so openly now. 

“Well, why don't you talk to Erwin? He might know a place where he can stay for the time being, eh?”

Jean slapped himself mentally in the head. How hadn't he thought of Erwin before? Marco was looking at them quizzically, clearly not understanding very well.

“Well, that IS a good idea,” he said thoughtfully, and stood up to kiss his mother on her forehead. “You're a genius, mom,” he said, and upon seeing Marco's confused expression, launched into a speech about Erwin and Levi. His mother stood up to make tea, remembering how she had helped Erwin find a new house behind her husband's back, remembered going there every week to help them settle in with the excuse of going to town to buy groceries. Erwin was a good person. He didn't deserve the treatment he was getting. 

At that moment, she spotted movement outside, and immediately froze. Her husband was at home. The sudden pause in chatter alerted her that Jean too had seen it. He stood like a deer in headlights, suddenly aware that the danger was not over yet. 

As his father walked in, he stopped abruptly at the sight of so many people in the kitchen. He raised an eyebrow as the obvious tension in the room welcomed him with deathly silence.

“Well, if it isn't Marco. That's a surprise.” His voice was careful, testing the waters. Jean's eyes were fixed to the floor, unblinking. 

“Good afternoon, Mr Kirchstein. It's very nice to meet you again,” said Marco, voice shivering all over the place, eyes darting all over the room.

Suddenly, Jean blurted out, “'mm not marrying Marie dad. I like someone else.”

His dad narrowed his eyes, summing up the rest of the sentence. “It's Marco, isn't it?”

Jean nodded, eyes still on the ground, not daring to raise them up, afraid that he'd see the same ice-cold look he's seen in Mr Bodt's eyes. A shadow fell over him, and his head was suddenly tilted up. His eyes, widened in surprise, met his father's, and to his surprise, although he didn't seem pleased, he couldn't detect signs of disgust. His father sighed. The next words that spilled out of his mouth were so unlike those Jean had imagined that it took him a while to process them. 

“Do you truly love him?”

“Yes.”

“Unconditionally, and with no regret?”

“Yes, father.”

“Then I have no opposition. I'm still proud of who you are, Jean.” He scratched his head, and added, as an afterthought, “Guess I should go apologise to Erwin. I see now it really is inevitable, this love.” He looked towards his wife with an uncharacteristic fondness, and said, “After all, when I fell in love with a peasant girl, I married her against my father's wishes. And I couldn't be happier.”

With a small gasp, his wife launched herself at him and hugged him tightly, eliciting a small chuckle from her husband as he hugged her back. Marco was looking at Jean with shining eyes, and without a word, he hugged him tightly, then untangled himself gently from him and ran towards his father, who was only just detaching himself from his wife and who caught him on reflex. Marco watched them with a mixture of sadness and happiness, and felt an unexpected pang of longing for his own home.

***

Jean and Marco stood outside the Smith's house, listening to a bright feminine voice that sounded distinctly familiar coming from inside, with the occasional response from one of the Smiths. Jean rapped his knuckles lightly against the door, and after a while it opened. This time he looked slightly downwards, and as expected, it was Levi who had opened the door, and the only thing that showed he was glad to see him was the slight softening of his eyes. Marco, stood next to him, bobbed his head awkwardly towards Levi's direction.

Levi smirked. “This is him?” he asked, looking at Jean.

“Yeah.”

“Come inside. If Hanji drives you up the wall, tell me. I'll get Erwin to boot her out of here.”

The female, who Jean now recognised as the shopkeeper of the shop where he'd bought his suit, what seemed like years ago, was bouncing slightly on the sofa, talking animatedly to Erwin, who appeared to be dozing of and nodding occasionally, stifling a yawn here and there. He brightened when he saw Jean, and winked furtively at him when Marco followed. Jean blushed, nodding a greeting and almost being suffocated by Hanji, who appeared to recognise them.

After some minutes (or hours, Hanji's talk was endless), they came to the reason of their visit. “A place to stay? Oh wow, your father's a dick,” said Levi mildly, sipping his tea while huddled against Erwin, whose hand was resting casually against his shoulder. His eyes narrowed, the only sign that he was really angry at the treatment Marco had received. 

Erwin began thoughtfully, “You could board with us, for the time being-”

“-- if you promise to clean your shit up and leave this place spick and span, of course,” finished Levi, draining his tea and placing it daintily on the coffee table. He scrutinised Marco through narrow eyes. “I think you're quite a careful guy,” he observed.

But at that exact moment, Hanji piped up. “I have an extra room,” she said, “and you can help with the shop. I'll pay you well, don't worry. I need an assistant now that Midget over there quit.”

“Shut up, Shitty Glasses, I didn't quit for fun, you know.”

Hanji laughed, and, leaning forward, ruffling Levi's short hair. “I know, I know,” she said lightly. She looked at Marco, with a glint in her eye, and said, “Well? What do you say?”

Marco's eyes shone. “Yes. Thank you so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm Eruri <3 <3  
> ew I'm tired  
> How was this chapter then? 
> 
> I'm really sorry about these late updates, but I'm really busy with studying and shit and exams are three weeks from now and i'm slowly losing my shit hahah feck HELP
> 
> thanks for all d support, love you all SO MUCH XXXXXXXXXXXX  
> Claire xxxx


	13. Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of work surface in Marco's brain  
> some crazy shit in there Marco
> 
> most of the ideas credited to her excellency OverMyFreckledBody (thank her for saving me from a writer's block)
> 
> (brief warning - a bit self-indulging - I'M REWARDING MYSELF OKAY)

The next few months were bliss, and the tragedies that had occurred in the previous weeks were almost forgotten. Almost, because for Marco, the cold eyes of his father still haunted his dreams nightly. 

However, Jean had taken it a habit to pop in sometimes in those long nights and keep him company, and those dreams would be replaced by the quiet, rhythmic breathing of Jean lying next to him. It wasn't that they slept together often, because more often than not Marco would be too exhausted to really do much but sleep. It was the feeling of another warm body pressed against his, hands flung over his stomach, breath hitting his face gently, that kept him sane, safely out of reach of his nightmares.

His work days were a blur of laughter and friendships, and certain events replayed quite clearly in his mind's eye as he lay down in Hanji's spare bedroom that night, one of the rare night's Jean managed to sneak out of his house. He curled his hand round Jean, and the other boy moved closer to him, head resting on Marco's shoulder. As his own eyes started drifting shut, his mouth curved up in a smile as he remembered...

***  
Round the first week of working at Hanji's suit shop, and alternating between that to her other small shop that served as a grocery, run by Moblit Berner, Marco had begun discovering that his job had certain perks that he could use to his advantage. For example, the sheer fact that Jean would visit almost every single day, usually dragging Marie in his wake after kidnapping--- eh, sneaking--- her out of the Manor, was already enough to brighten his days. The relationship that had been built between Jean and Marie had quickly morphed into a strong friendship, akin to that of a brother and sister. Marie seemed happier than she'd been in ages, now that she was seeing someone who might actually return her love, and all seemed right in the world.

One of his absolute favourite things to do was to bend (accidentally, of course) over the counter to pick something that had, accidentally, fallen to the floor when Jean was lounging nonchalantly in the back room, in full view of Marco's glorious posterior, while the shop was chock-full of people, which resulted in a very flustered, red-faced Jean, in his suddenly uncomfortable pants, trying to look as if he was not staring pointedly at a fixed point on the handsome young cashier's back. After the customers would drift off, probably scared off by Jean's face as is slowly transitioned from red to a slightly deeper shade of red to an even more alarming shade of red, Jean would stand up with as much dignity as he could gather up, dragging Marco to the tiny bathroom and kissing him senseless, hands bunching the collar of Marco's shirt as he pushes him against the wall, and then watching in satisfaction as Marco tried to keep the telltale flush on his face from showing as he struggled to hide his arousal from the customers lest they became suspicious. 

Another thing that came to mind was falling asleep on the counter during the hot afternoons spent in the quieter suit shop, and being woken up by Hanji screaming in his ears. Hanji was a jovial person, always chattering and laughing, her eyes shining brightly at everything. Sometimes, she chattered a bit too much, and a few times managed to drive Marco up the wall, but he was far too polite to point that out. Jean was much less hesitant, and it was his greatest joy to start a seemingly pointless argument with her which ended up with both of them gesticulating wildly, which never really helped Marco's pounding headache, but was always entertaining to watch. Hanji was quite an easy-going employer, and paid well, and her house, although quite small even by Jean's standards, was comfortable, and for Marco, it felt much, much more welcoming than anywhere else. Also, the pressure of not keeping up to the name of Bodt, a name that spoke of nobility, which had previously not bothered him because he'd never been aware of it, now resulted in an unexpected freedom. His clothes, some borrowed from Hanji herself, no longer spoke of riches, but rather of humbleness. And Marco couldn't be any happier. 

Once, Jean had arrived in the midst of shouting and loud laughter. When Marco had peered from behind the counter to see whom he'd thought was a gaggle of people, he'd been met with the sight of just two teenagers, who appeared to be holding hands, and Jean. One of the two strangers, a girl with beautiful brown hair tied up in a messy ponytail, had seemed to be talking over a mouthful of food, and the other, a boy with shorn hair, had been looking at her with a mischievous look on his face, his eyes the only hint that he was crazy in love with her. Jean had seemed to notice Marco at that time, and his eyes did the thing they always did when they met Marco's; they softened out of their cynical look and filled with an all-consuming tenderness. Then, he'd introduced his friends as Connie and Sasha, and had explained how Sasha had cancelled her engagement so that she could be with Connie. The similarities of their story to Marco and Jean's own experiences had shocked Marco. However, the emotion he'd spotted in Connie's eyes a few minutes previously had sufficed as confirmation that Connie would have ripped the world apart if it meant getting Sasha. He'd wondered at that time; was that the emotion he too displayed when he looked at Jean? 

From that day on, Connie and Sasha, who also knew about Marco and Jean's relationship, had teased Jean endlessly about how they'd guessed three quarters of his earlier crushes and had never doubted that he'd preferred boys over girls, and were constantly popping in the shop, keeping Marco informed with every little insignificant piece of news that happened in the town, including all the explicit details of the upcoming wedding that everyone was waiting for: Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman's wedding, that is.

On other occasions, Jean would help out in the shop, fetching things for Marco and plastering a horribly false, achingly bright smile to encourage customers to step inside the shop. Marco feared that it was having an opposite reaction, and he'd often pull Jean's leg gently about it. Jean would pretend to get upset, but would soon end up cackling on the floor, bent-double with laughter as Marco kicked him discreetly, urging him to /Shut the hell up you're not making it any better you fool/, smiling angelically at the wizened old lady he would be currently trying to serve as if to portray the utter normality of the situation. 

There was the time when Levi had dropped in unexpectedly and almost died at the “terrible lack of hygiene”, as he had put it. It was true that there had been a faint layer of dust coating the surfaces of the shops' furniture, but it wasn't as if they had never cleaned. Levi had forced all of them, Moblit and Hanji included, to “clean this shit up immediately, or else.” No one had questioned his “or else”; the murderous look in his eyes had been enough. It had been quite hilarious, watching the short man whizzing around, dust vanishing in his wake at an alarming rate. Marco had been sure that the dust was so scared of Levi it just shrank away quietly in the shadows, for the next day it had been just as dusty as before. But it had been quite a significant step for Levi all the same; the very fact that he'd travelled to the same place where he had been forced to leave because of the shitty comments made upon his choices might have been his defiance finally making its overdue appearance. Of course, no one had quite believed Levi's slightly lame excuse that he'd only wanted to see how the shop was thriving without him. Erwin, who'd arrived a few hours later, having taken a horse-drawn carriage straight after work from the school to Shiganshina, had looked on, pride evident in his face, as Levi slowly returned to his previous routines, claiming he was only doing so because the work was “shoddy” and they “needed his expert help”. And although he got some dirty looks, especially from the older generation, most of his old customers greeted him with warmth, and had even smiled at Erwin as they passed by him. 

The most recent memory that Marco remembered, with some difficulty, had happened just a few days ago, after work. Levi, who'd started to work there on a full-time basis, had told Marco that he could leave an hour earlier, and Marco had taken this advantage to drag Jean to a pub to celebrate Jean's birthday earlier. Little did Marco know that his first time drinking alcohol would be the first (and only) time he became spectacularly drunk with just one pint of beer. He had made quite a show of himself, according to Jean, who'd told him the story in between fits of laughter the morning after, words stabbing painfully at Marco's throbbing head. Apparently, he could get very jealous. Jean wouldn't say much more after that, partly due to his inability to speak round the roars of mirth that had erupted from within him, so great that he'd even woken Hanji up, an amazing feat in itself, considering the amount of effort it took Marco to stir her from sleep every morning.

As he lay in bed, Marco started laughing softly again at the memories, and felt an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction in his chest. He was proud of the man he'd grown into this past year, and he was prouder of the man who had elicited this growth in him. The man in question stirred, his eyes breaking open and landing on Marco's. 

“Mmpf,” he murmured intelligently as he tried to focus on Marco's face. Marco stroked his hair, urging him to go back to sleep, but Jean shook his head. “Now that you've woken me up, you big dork, at least tell me what you're thinking about.”

“Oh, I was remembering some of your antics at work, like remember that time when you...”

Jean smiled, reliving the memories as Marco's voice softly weaved the stories out of the air. When his voice died out, Jean rolled over on top of Marco, landing on his bare stomach. He leaned down and kissed the cluster of freckles leading from his collarbone to his right shoulder, eliciting a quivering moan from Marco, who was suddenly very awake. What happened next was a bit of a blur, but suddenly it was Jean looking up at Marco looming overhead. He swallowed at the intensity of the passion Marco was displaying, his heartbeat picking up considerably. Marco dipped his head down and kissed Jean's neck, leaving a trail of fire leading down from his jaw. Jean's back arched, bracing against the mattress as his body and soul answered Marco's passion with a passion of its own that equalled it, if not surpassing it. And as their lips and tongues met, Jean allowed himself to sink into the red hot desire that had awoken deep down inside of him, a fire that was reflected in Marco's later actions. 

That night, it was a miracle that Hanji did not wake up. And if she had, she was kind enough not to mention it, or comment on the dark circles beneath their eyes as they came downstairs for breakfast, or even the sheer fact that she was up before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have arisen from my tomb friends
> 
> Don't kill me to harshly, I'm doing my exams and it's kILLLING MEE ALREADY
> 
> to make up for skipping a week i'm posting two chapters this week, so second chapter up either today or tomorrow
> 
> you can thank me now friends
> 
> thanks for still reading this, wouldn't have done it without your constant support c':
> 
> Claire xxxxxxx


	14. Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i think y'all get the gist from the title

It was a week before the wedding. The flowers had started to bloom again after the harsh winter. Marco had aged a year, and had bought his own tiny apartment in Shiganshina. Jean had seen him grow and mature in front if his eyes, and had, if possible, fallen slightly more in love with him. It was back to this apartment that they were walking to, taking the country road. Jean was looking at the flowers and remembered, long ago, when he had been riding towards the Bodt manor for the first time, and had been looking at flowers and admiring their beauty as he walked. 

He stopped next to a cluster of purple pansies, and carefully plucked out a single flower. He jogged up to Marco, who had kept on walking, and slipped the stem of the flower through his hair, resting it just above his right ear. Marco looked at Jean, surprised, then smiled, his eyes shining. He bent down kissed Jean, who forgot all about the flowers and the wind and the fact that they were standing in the middle of the path because the kiss took his breath away, as all of Marco's kisses did. He tangled his fingers in Marco's hair, the flower dropping to their feet, because all that mattered was Marco, and nothing in the world could interrupt this moment.

Well, except the huge carriage trundling towards them, that is. 

They barely managed to leap out of the way before the carriage hurtled through the space where they'd been standing 2.5 seconds ago, landing in the middle of the pansies Jean had been admiring a few minutes before. Jean twisted around and spotted the emblem on the back of the carriage which had, for some reason, come to a screeching halt. The horses leading it were snorting loudly, expressing their frustration in a way that Jean found horribly familiar (it was a trait he and Fury had in common). It took him a while to recognise the emblem, but it seemed that Marco had already guessed, because the freckles on his cheeks suddenly stood out against the blanched white skin of his face. He leaned close to Jean and whispered, “That's the Ackerman emblem.”

Jean immediately regretted ever being born and decided it would be a good time for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

The carriage door suddenly opened, and both boys shrank further into the soil. A slender leg appeared, followed by the rest of the young woman's body. And there, staring at them with her porcelain skin and delicate limbs, stood Mikasa Ackerman. 

Her face stared at them passively from where she stood, and the terrified young men currently wishing that they did not exist stared back, trying to hide but not really succeeding. Then, something weird happened. Mikasa Ackerman, renown for her piercing glare and fierce strength and her deceiving looks, always composed and strict, burst out laughing.

Marco and Jean stared. It was bad enough running into Mikasa, but having Mikasa actually laughing at you was taking embarrassment to a new level. They sat up, brushing pansies from their shirts, as Mikasa regained her composure, slowly, wiping away the tears of mirth from her eyes. “I'm so sorry,” she said at last, her voice as soft as the wind rustling through the grass blades.

“Oh, eh, it's fine,” Marco managed to say in between trying not to look at Mikasa and trying to gather his dignity from where it had spilled all over the pansies. Jean had already struggled to his feet, not realised that he still had pansies sticking to his butt area until Mikasa burst into fresh peals of laughter. Jean pinned down this extraordinary happiness to the upcoming wedding, though why anyone would be happy to wake up next to Eren Jaeger every other day was beyond him. 

When Mikasa had calmed down again, and both Marco and Jean were on their feet, pansy-less, she spoke again. “I would like to apologise for my driver's irresponsible driving, and also for my discourtesy at your unfortunate accidents. I hope you will be able to attend my wedding next week...?”

She trailed off expectantly, and Jean immediately answered, “Of course we'll make it.” He smiled charmingly, and Mikasa beamed back, and Jean remembered why he'd been slightly obsessed with her before he met Marco. Marco seemed to realise what Jean was thinking and smirked. He grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together, as if to remind his boyfriend that he was still there. Jean glanced at him and smile radiantly, and Mikasa, who was still looking at them, felt her breath catch as she observed the look Jean threw at Marco. She felt as if she was intruding on something private, as if she wasn't meant to experience the intense affection concentrated in that single, loving glance. She cleared her throat, and said softly, “I'll be leaving now. I'll see you there.” She waved regally, and Jean mock-saluted her, tearing his eyes away from Marco's to look at her as she drove off.

Marco tugged at his hand. “Shall we continue were we left off?”

Jean raised an eyebrow at that, but he was smiling when he turned to face Marco. “When did you get so smooth?”

“And when did you get so addictive?” murmured Marco as he produced another flower from behind his back and stuck it in Jean's hair. 

Jean took that as a rhetoric question, and he stretched upwards to meet Marco's lips, and somehow they managed to fall back into the grass, but this time they didn't mind the pansies because there were more pressing things to be dealt with at the moment. 

The week passed by, and the big day was finally here. As Jean put on his coat, pulling it tightly around him so it fit him snugly, his mother came into his room and stood quietly at the doorway, watching him silently. He glanced at her, and she smiled fondly at him. His father appeared at her shoulder, his arms going round her waist from behind.

“My boy,” he said gruffly, in a voice constricted with emotion. His father had apparently come to his senses after all those years stubbornly holding out against people whom he didn't reckon to be normal. He'd even gone as far as to follow through on his word and apologised to Erwin, who accepted the apology wholeheartedly, being the kind man he was. Levi had been more grudging, but had secretly been just a tiny little bit impressed. 

His mother came forward and straightened his shirt collar, which had been sticking up in what would be a fashionable way in a couple of centuries but certainly wasn't now. “You've grown so tall,” she chuckled, as she looked up at him from the height of somewhere around his chest. “Give Marco our love when you see him,” she added, beaming up at him.

“And tell him to visit more. His garden tips are really useful,” his father continued.

Jean felt an overwhelming wave of happiness crash into his heart. He could never have dreamed that his life would have finally fallen in place, that he had found his purpose. He was finally where he was supposed to be. 

And then Connie crashed in and the quiet serenity of the house was replaced with loud cackling and food flying from Connie's mouth as he informed them as loud as he could that the wedding was in, like, twenty minutes, and they should really hurry. Then Jean was trying, frantically, to put on his shoes, which had miraculously tied themselves together, and then they were out, Jean's parents still looking as if a bomb had just dropped in front of their eyes, which, in a way, it had. 

Jean and Connie met Marco halfway there, and picked up Sasha a little further up. The four of them arrived just in time.

Outside the small parish, a grey horse pulling a carriage came to a halt, and inside, the organist placed his fingers on the beautiful organ, and eased out a melody from the keys as all the guests rose to their feet, and Mikasa walked in with her bridal party, her arm looped through her father's. Her dress was pearly white, with a fitted bodice embroidered with lace and dotted with pearls. The dress flowed out from her waist, a full skirt falling gracefully around her, complete with ruffles held up by clusters of pearls. Two diamonds shimmered at her ears, and several more were scattered decoratively in her hair, which was gathered up in a huge bun, with small ringlets which had been allowed to escape falling delicately at the nape of her neck. Her eyes never wavered from the stiff figure at the altar, who was trying extremely hard not to piss himself, and also not to glance behind, as the anticipation mounted. As soon as she stepped on the first step leading up to the altar, Eren turned, and his eyes widened as he took in his soon-to-be wife. He flushed red, and Mikasa beamed at him, abandoning her reputation of being emotionless. His face turned an even deeper shade of red, which clashed interestingly against his mulberry frock coat and lavender doeskin trousers. He offered her his hand, palm up, and she placed her hand gracefully on his, their eyes locking, apparently forgetting that they were in a room filled with expectant people. The moment passed, and they found their places in the altar. 

The service came to an end, and as the guests streamed outside to wait for the newly weds and viciously attack them with rice (for some unfathomable reason Jean could not understand), Jean glanced at them. Eren was, uncharacteristically, smiling, a smile that split his face in half, his hand gripping one of Mikasa's, as if he couldn't believe that she was really and truly his wife now. And, uncharacteristically, Jean felt happy for Eren. He quickly vacated the church before he felt any more feelings of goodwill for Jaeger.

As the couple emerged from the church, the golden rings glinting at their fingers, and were for some reason assaulted with rice, Jean looked for the carriage, and to his surprise found that the grey horse had been replaced by four huge white stallions. The couple moved towards it and climbed in, Jean noting gleefully that Eren almost tripped on the carriage steps as he went. As the carriage pulled out, the guests scattered, taking the fastest route towards Mikasa's house, or rather, her parent's house.

It was when the reception was in full swing, and Jean was stuffing his face with whatever the Ackermans had to offer, that Armin came up to him.

Jean realised he hadn't seen him for ages, and wondered if he knew about him and Marco. Granted, three quarters of the village already knew, because Marco's eviction had not been a quiet affair. He was about to question the tiny blonde on his knowledge when he was interrupted by the same tiny blonde. “I really admire how you stood up to everyone and fought for what you believe in,” he said solemnly.

Ah, so he did know.

Jean opened his mouth to answer, but Armin steamrollered over his words. Jean didn't take much offence because he realised that Armin wasn't even looking at him. He was gazing at Eren's back, who had taken off his (hideous- but than Jean couldn't really talk about that; the image of Ida still haunted him) frock coat and was strutting around in his white waistcoat, which, admittedly, fitted him like a glove. Jean realised that Armin was talking, and tuned in to his words.

“...it was a really brave thing to do. I could never have done it.”

“Lucky you didn't need to then, eh?” Jean tried, hoping to elevate the mood. Armin turned round, tearing his eyes from Eren, his lips curving in a sad smile, and Jean suddenly knew what Armin was going to say next.

“Only because he's in love with someone else.”

Jean passed his hand briefly over his eyes. He felt genuine sadness for Armin, who was looking so lost, trying to put on a smile for the sake of Eren and Mikasa, his two best friends. “Oh, Armin.”

“I messed up, didn't I?”

Jean shook his head violently. “No, no, of course you didn't. Love is not a thing that is rational. It works from the background, and when you realise what's happening, it's too late.”

Armin looked at the ground, fighting back his emotions. When he looked up again, his face was carefully composed into a neutral expression. “Your actions have inspired me to be true to myself, Jean. Thank you. Don't worry about my heart – it'll heal soon. I don't hate Mikasa. I'm glad it was her who married Eren, because I know she will love him unconditionally. My heart is sad, but at peace. I'm leaving now, because it still hurts a bit, looking at him. Please tell him I wasn't feeling well, and had to leave immediately.”

He stepped away, and with a slight bob of his head, he vanished into the crowd.

Jean was still trying to understand Armin's self-sacrificial philosophy when Marco appeared beside him. Jean turned around to smile at him, but his smile froze as he took in Marco's expression. 

“What? What is it?”

Marco looked up, at someone behind Jean. Jean twisted around, eyes searching until they found him.

Erwin stood in the middle of the room, fighting his way through the crowd to get to the front. Levi was nowhere to be seen. His face was grave, his eyes urgent. When he finally made it, he bent down to whisper something to Mikasa's father, who immediately rose up and waved his hand. The pianist immediately stopped, and the sudden quiet hushed everyone up. All eyes turned on Erwin. He spoke, his deep voice reaching everyone through the stillness.

“The Queen has sent orders throughout all the lands that all healthy men of the age of eighteen and above up to the age of 60 are to enrol in the army. A breach to this land's walls has been made, and an army of titanic masses is heading towards us. This is a state of emergency, and it has been issued that the gathering of the army shall be started in the course of the next twenty-four hours.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I'm sorry to barge in on such a happy occasion, but it is my duty to inform you. I advise all the men in this room to start saying their farewells.”

The deafening silence that followed was awful. Then, the noise started again, tears and shouting and everyone rushing around, wives gripping their husbands and their eldest sons, disbelieving. Jean was staring at Marco, who was staring right back at him, Marco, who had only recently celebrated his nineteenth birthday. Marco's hands came up to cup Jean's face, thumbs stroking his cheeks as the realisation dawned in Jean's eyes. Something deep within those eyes broke, and the tenuous grip Jean held on his tears and his sanity broke as the image of Marco shattered behind the veil of tears.

Why did love hurt so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahHAHAHAH 
> 
> i'm bACK 
> 
> don'T KILL ME
> 
> ok so i'm currently writing the next two chapters, which i will post this week DEFINITELY so i'll get up to date with the updates.
> 
> *laughs nervously*
> 
> bye
> 
> Claire xxxxx


	15. War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hmmm i wonder what THIS chapter is about
> 
> hmmmm

Jean does not remember what exactly happened that day. When he tries recalling it, years after, all that he can remember is the panic and rush that was gripping their small town, and the despair that had filled him as he watched Marco packing what little possessions he could take in a small backpack. 

Marco was very composed for a man who'd just found out that he would be leaving to fight for his life in the next twenty-four hours. Jean was desperate; he wasn't used to feeling so useless. He could do nothing but watch – he couldn't fight, because he wasn't old enough, as was Eren, but Marco, Connie, Armin and Erwin were all leaving. Levi couldn't make it either, because he had injured his back years ago in a similar emergency situation, and could not fight well because of it. Jean could understand the pain that he was going through at exactly this moment, but perhaps Levi felt it more acutely, having spent much longer with Erwin than Jean had with Marco. Jean's father was not leaving, because he had a duty to protect his students and was staying behind. Jean barely spared any thought on anyone save Marco. He knew he was being selfish, but he could not force himself to stop thinking that this could be the last time he saw Marco, the last time he could look into his eyes, or see his freckles cluster closer together as he smiled, or feel the warmth of his skin against his own.

“Hey, hey, Jean, don't cry.”

Suddenly Jean was engulfed in a pair of strong arms, and he shut his eyes, only just realising that he was, indeed, crying. It seemed to him that's all he did nowadays. How utterly pathetic. He struggled to free his arm from Marco's death-grip, and wiped the tears away. When Marco unlatched himself from Jean, he was met with a resolute face. “Don't you dare die on me, Marco Bodt.”

Marco laughed sadly, ruffling Jean's hair. “Just knowing you're waiting for me here is enough to give me strength, Jean. I promise you, I'll do all that I can to survive this godforsaken battle. I'll be back.”

“And kick their asses for me.”

Marco saluted smartly. “Yes, sir.”

Jean laughed, shoving his elbow in Marco's ribs. But then they got serious again, and Jean slowly closed the distance between them and hugged him, gently. Marco returned the gesture, placing his chin on top of Jean's head and his hands gripped Jean as if he was going to slip out of his fingers any second. “I'll miss you.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They kissed, a gentle, bitter-sweet goodbye kiss, and then Marco quietly detached himself from Jean and shouldered his backpack. He reached backwards imploringly, and Jean stepped forward immediately, slipping his fingers through Marco's reaching hand, and together they walked off to the tiny square. They met up with Jean's parents and Marie, who was sobbing heartily in a handkerchief. Jean's mother looked shocked, and his father was trying his best to comfort them both. When they caught sight of the approaching couple, Marie left their side and ran to Marco, who let go of Jean and opened his arms. Marie jumped into them, burying her head in his shoulder, her shoulders shaking even harder. Jean could distinctly make out her words, smushed against the material of his shirt. “Don't leave, don't go, please, don't die...”

They stopped in front of Jean's parents. His father placed his hand on Marco's shoulder, and the unspoken words that passed between them where enough to bring tears to Marco's eyes. His mother opened her arms, and Jean collapsed into them, curving into the warmth and comfort they offered. When he parted from her, he glanced around vacantly, trying to see if there was someone else he knew that was departing. Someone bumped into him, and he looked up, the word 'Sorry' dying on his lips as he looked at the person's face. Hanji stared back at him, wearing full military garb.

“Hanji...?”

“Shhhhhhhhh. No one knows. I'm going to be fighting too.”

“But you're a lady!”

She glared at him from behind her glasses. “Ladies can fight just as well as men, young man,” she said sternly, her voice gruffer than usual. Jean realised she was trying to sound manly, and almost laughed, had the situation been lighter. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“To look out for Erwin. Small favour for Levi. And also...” She paused dramatically, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “Because wars are SO INTERESTING!!”

Jean remembered, belatedly, her obsession with war techniques and the military in general, and rolled his eyes slightly. Only Hanji would risk her life for a hobby. 

“Come back in one piece, Shitty Glasses.”

They both turned to look at the two people that had just appeared behind them. Levi, who had just uttered those words, looked as stoic as usual, but when Jean looked harder, he could see that his eyes were red. Erwin towered over him, carrying his own small backpack, face set in a rigid expression. Marco put Marie down, still holding her close to him, and nodded towards the newcomers. The people gathered at the square suddenly quietened down, and Jean looked up, spotting a wrinkled old man wearing the military uniform standing on the temporary platform erected in the square.

“I am Commander Dot Pixis of the Queen's Royal Military Service. I have come to lead the people from the districts of Trost and Shiganshina towards the main meeting point of the Army, where we will be intercepting the attacking Army. Those of you who are capable of riding a horse, please go first, and if you have any spare horses, bring them with you. Loss of horses will be paid back by her Royal Highness, the Queen, after the attacking Army is vanquished.”

“They sure have a lot of confidence about us winning, don't they?” Jean heard Erwin whispering to Levi, who kicked him in the shin and said, “You'd better win, Erwin, or I'll disown you.”

Erwin chuckled. “You wouldn't.”

“You bet your shitty ass I will.”

Jean let their banter fade into the background. He knew this was Levi's way of coping with a stressful situation, and his heart ached a bit more for this man who was going to be spending the coming few weeks, months, year maybe, alone. Jean had his family's comfort, but Levi only had Erwin. 

Pixis had continued, and was currently giving a brief summary of the attack plan, and some information about the people attacking them, described handily by Levi as a “bunch of lowlifes who enjoy disrupting peace and acting like complete and utter shits”.

“Are there any questions?”

“Will our wives and children be protected?” shouted a man from the middle.

“Yes, there will be small military groups posted in each village just in case any rouge groups get cut off from the main army and attack the small villages.”

This went on for another few minutes, until Pixis cleared his throat and raised his hand, silencing the crowd effectively. “There is no more time to be wasted. Soldiers, please say your farewells quickly. We leave in five minutes.”

Suddenly, it all seemed to real. Marco hugged each of the people who came to bid him farewell, pausing to kiss Marie's forehead, and then turned to Jean. He kissed his cheek this time, and whispered, “I love you, Jean. Don't miss me too much.”

Jean laughed through his tears, and said, “Love you too, dork.”

They both glanced at Erwin, who had lifted Levi clean off the ground and was currently squeezing the air out of the tiny man, who seemed to have finally broken down and was sobbing against Erwin's neck. Erwin was murmuring something to him, and Jean made out the words “I love you” and “Be strong”. When he returned Levi to the ground, the small man stepped on top of Erwin's army boots to gain some height, leaned up and kissed Erwin, who looked shocked, pleasantly so. 

Then Hanji blocked their view and hugged Jean, almost strangling him, and told him that she'd look out for Marco too. Then she furrowed her brow and tucked in a stray lock of hair under her hat, and strutted off, Marco dragging after her, his eyes lingering on Jean's. Erwin walked a few steps behind, shooting glances at Levi, whose eyes never wavered from Erwin's. As the topped the small ridge, Marco turned round, and waved. Jean blew him a kiss, and then he was gone. Jean felt his heart rip up inside him, especially when Marie howled in anguish next to him, having apparently been holding in the true extent of her emotions for Marco's sake. He didn't allow the tears to escape, but kept strong for her sake this time, throwing his arms around her as she clutched him, smoothing her hair away from her red face and rubbing circles on her back. That night, she didn't go back home, but slept in Jean's bed, curled up against him, as the tears fell silently down his cheeks, trying vainly not to wake her up.

The next few months were hell. They hardly got any news from the fronts, and only knew that their army was only barely the size of the attacking army, creating a deep sense of foreboding in all the small villages. Eren, Jean, and all the boys from the age of fifteen to the age of seventeen were given the duty of enrolling in the military groups stationed at their respective villages, and everyone, even the women and the elderly, were helping in building defences and traps outside the village boundaries. Levi was appointed a platoon leader, with twenty men in his command. Jean was one of those men, and his team worked mostly in food distribution and health supervision, which fitted Levi perfectly. Jean noticed how hard Levi laboured on his jobs, working through the breaks and sometimes even through the nights. Jean worried over him, but never said anything. It was Levi's way of warding off negative thoughts and emotions, trying to work up to Erwin's last wish. 

It was the seventh month after the beginning of the war. Levi's platoon were on lookout duty. Levi had gone on ahead to scout the area and ensure that it was safe for them to proceed. Jean was arguing with Eren (nothing new there) who was a newly admitted member of their platoon. Jean thought he could hear distant noises of horses, but didn't pay much attention to it. When the wind blew their way, they could sometimes make out the distant noises of the war. Jean thought of Marco, and immediately his brain began conjuring up images of blood and gore and death, and his stomach heaved, and he almost projectile-vomited that afternoon's stale rations straight in Eren's face, which would have been satisfying, to say the least.

Jean heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and turned just in time to see Levi trudging towards them. The man seemed to have regained his youth, strangely enough. He was more athletic than most of the youth under his command, and he often slagged them about it. His voice rang out and echoed in the quiet emptiness of the Shiganshina borders, as he said, “All clear. Let's proceed.”

For a while the were silent, marching behind Levi, who was glaring at a map with as much ferocity as he could muster. It was a miracle his gaze didn't burn a hole in the parchment. He suddenly looked up, like a dog who has suddenly detected an enticing scent. His eyes looked alarmed, but his body didn't tense up, so it was only Jean, who knew his small, give-away signs, detected the change in mood. “Halt,” Levi ordered, and immediately, all the men behind him froze in their tracks. Levi sprinted towards the watch-post they'd just vacated and scaled the stairs, taking out his binoculars as he went. He reached the top level and looked through them, squinting against the sun. After only about a minute, he was sprinting back, and when he arrived, he was out of breath.

“You,” he said, pointing at Eren, “listen well.” He took a breath, looking as if he was going to faint. “Go tell the villagers that the army...the army is returning.”

He looked at the rest of the gathered soldiers, who looked shell-shocked. “You,” he said again, pointing to the smallest one amongst them, “run to the infirmary, and tell them to send their quick response teams.” He gazed at the rest, eyes locking briefly with Jean's, whose heart had suddenly started beating at twice the normal speed. “The rest of you brats, follow me, at the double.”

With that, he took off, not looking back to see if they were following him, running as fast as he could towards the one thing that mattered to him, Jean following close behind, one thought echoing dully in his mind - 

Is he alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm i wonder  
> hmmm
> 
> i kept my promise this time eyyyy  
> im so nice  
> maybe not
> 
> ahahah
> 
> comment if you want to kill me lal
> 
> bye
> 
> claire xxxxxx


	16. Returning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's the chapter you've all been waiting for  
> or maybe not  
> either way don't kill me
> 
>  
> 
> please

Jean ran. All he could hear was his feet pounding against the ground and his heart beating frantically in his ears. Levi was ahead of him, never once looking back, focussing his energy solely on pushing his feet forward at a steady rate. The approaching army was in view now, and it was clear by the banners held up that it was the defending army, and not the conquering army, that was moving towards them. Jean could make out Commander Pixis, riding a few metres ahead, suddenly pushing his horse into a fast trot. Levi slowed down and met him half way.

“Status, sir?”

“We won, but barely.”

Jean could not see Levi's face, but he heard his voice lose most of its confidence with his next command. “Thomas, go report back before the army reaches the village. Report that we won, but prepare the hospital to receive the casualties. Mention that there are quite a number. Hurry now.”

The lifeless quality of his voice seemed to scare his men more than his usual snappish tones, and Thomas was already half way there when the rest of the Army trudged up to were they'd been standing. Pixis turned on Levi, Jean, and the remaining soldiers from Levi's platoon, and said, “You've done a good job. You can return now.”

Levi shook his head. “I will not leave. The others may go to their parents. I need to search for my husband.”

Pixis raised an eyebrow at that, and Levi looked up at him, jutting his chin out and glaring at him, daring him to say something. Pixis replied, “I didn't know you were married to a hero.”

Levi stared at him, evidently not expecting that answer. “You mean...”

“Go look for him.”

Levi turned to Jean, grabbing his arm. “He's coming with me.”

Pixis nodded, and with that, Levi dived into the crowd, dragging Jean in after him. 

Jean was horrified. All around him, the smell of death, blood and decay clung to the people slowly trudging past him. Many had bloody wounds, several had lost limbs, and others were being carried in makeshift stretchers, dead or unconscious, Jean didn't know. Levi never lost his grip on Jean's arm, sometimes stopping to ask if anyone had seen Erwin. Finally, they found him.

Jean heard Levi gasp audibly, and the world seemed to slow down as both of them realised that Erwin had been quite seriously injured. His right arm was gone, chopped off just above the elbow. His face when Levi appeared before him was priceless, a mixture of shock, surprise and elation, and a slight hint of embarrassment. Levi let go of Jean then, and, as if in a dream, walked up to Erwin slowly, reaching out to him. Erwin stepped forward, and with his one good hand, scooped Levi up from the ground. Levi threw his hands round his neck, beating his fists against Erwin's back, whispering obscenities rapidly under his breath as his body shook from heaving sobs. Erwin looked alarmed, possible because he wasn't used to Levi completely losing his shit. He rested his head against Levi's, and seemed to notice Jean for the first time. His face changed.

Jean felt his heart drop.

“Erwin...where's Marco?”

Erwin wouldn't meet his eyes. “He's being carried in the stretchers. I won't lie to you...he isn't in a good shape.”

Jean dropped to his knees. He had no recollection of how he his legs suddenly lost all their energy, and he couldn't quite remember how Levi managed to untangle himself from Erwin and somehow lift Jean over his shoulder, and that was when he, thankfully, blacked out.

When he woke up again, he couldn't recognise were he was. He sat up, and immediately, Levi was beside him. 

“Where am I?”

“At ours. Rest, and in the meantime I'll tell you about Marco.” He added quickly, as Jean turned ashen, “He's not dead.” 

And so it was while Jean was seated against the headboard of Levi and Erwin's spare bed, gripping the bedsheets for support, with Levi pacing in front in from him, that he learned what exactly had happened to Marco.

“He lost...an eye?”

“Yes.”

“And he can't use his right leg and arm well?”

“For now. They think he'll recover, but he'll have his scars to remind him for the rest of his life.” Levi's hand hovered unconsciously over a spot on his back, and Jean remembered vaguely how Erwin had mentioned something on how Levi had badly injured himself in a strife that had occurred some years previously when he had jumped between Erwin and his attacker to protect him, one of the many reasons why Jean greatly admired Levi.

At that moment, Hanji walked into the room, and to Jean's relief, found her in one piece, with just an arm hung in a sling. She started nattering away about how there seemed to be people behind the door who were asking to be let in, and Levi rolled his eyes and went to open the door. Hanji turned to Jean, and to his horror, saw her usually happy eyes turn dark with sorrow. “I'm sorry I couldn't protect Marco,” she said hoarsely, and Jean realised that she had been crying. 

He put out his hand, and she walked over to his side, kneeling beside the bed. He placed his hand on top of her head and ruffled her hair. “It's not your fault Marco got injured. I don't hate you, or blame you.”

Hanji sniffed, and rubbed her eyes with both her hands. “Levi told me you wouldn't be mad at me, but I still feel so horribly guilty...”

“I'm just glad you're all alive.”

The moment was shattered by a loud crash as the bedroom door was almost knocked of its hinges, and Connie hopped in on crutches, grinning wildly, Sasha following closely, reprimanding him for misusing his crutches for “evil deeds” and “disrupting the peace”. Armin followed after them, a bandage tied round his forehead, his golden hair in disarray for the first time since Jean had known him.

Jean sprang out of bed and went to talk to them, and soon Jean began to feel his fingers regain the sense of touch as the numbness that had fallen on him upon hearing the news about Marco yesterday began fading away. After a couple of minutes of Connie bragging about his skills as a swordsman and Armin's intellect about how the war could have been won with much less injuries and casualties, Levi reappeared, and announced that they were going to leave for the Infirmary.

The Infirmary was a temporary refuge for the injured. It used to be an old, disused farmhouse a few feet away from the actual town infirmary. Due to the fact that the small infirmary had not been able to keep up with the large influx of injured people, measures had had to be taken to increase the space, and this old farmhouse had been remodelled into a temporary Infirmary, the same one to which Levi and Jean were headed to at the moment. They left Connie, Sasha and Armin at Levi's, and Hanji had promised not to wreck the house until they came back.

On their way there, they passed a closed off space where the dead had been placed. Rows upon rows of bodies hidden by black cloths were stacked behind each other, and priests circled the small place, blessing and praying for their souls. They were to be buried all together, in a barren field outside the village, because most of them were mangled beyond recognition, and couldn't be given to their own families for that fact. The ones who were recognised had already been buried in their family graves. 

Levi paused right before the open door of the Infirmary, where nurses and doctors were constantly pouring in and out, moving between both infirmaries. “He may not have woken up yet. His wounds are very grave.”

“I want to see him.”

“Then let us proceed.”

Levi led him up the rickety stairs, swerving to avoid two speeding nurses charging down. It seemed to Jean he knew were he was going, and wondered if he'd already been there to visit Marco before. After taking several turns, they reached a room somewhere near the top. This room was different from the ones they'd passed. In almost all the rooms there was a hustle and bustle of people rushing around, and Jean had heard several cries and moans of pain that had sent shivers of dread running up his spine. But this room was different. Silence reigned. He walked in softly, afraid of disrupting the peace, and looked around. 

This was the room were the soldiers in the worst conditions had been placed. Nurses patrolled around them constantly, and some beds had been shoddily curtained off, possibly for amputations. He saw Erwin before he saw Marco. Erwin was sitting beside a bed, a clean white bandage hiding what remained of his arm and disappearing under his shirt. Levi walked carefully towards him, leaning down to kiss his right shoulder, and then gazed at the body on the bed. Jean followed his gaze, filled with dread, and his eyes landed on Marco. 

His hands jerked to his mouth reflexively as his eyes roamed over Marco. A huge gash, starting from his right cheek and disappearing up beneath the bloody bandage covering his eye, had deformed his beautiful face, and the rest of his body was almost entirely covered with bandages, most of them already soiled with blood. 

“Someone almost cut him right in half,” supplied Erwin slightly unhelpfully, as Jean stood over Marco, frozen in shock. He reached out his hand, and slowly, ever so gently, stroked his uninjured cheek. 

“You promised me...you wouldn't die...”

Levi tugged on Erwin's left arm. “Let's go.”

Erwin got up and left, his eyes lingering sadly on Jean's solitary figure. Levi looked at Jean for a long time, before putting his hand gently on Jean's shoulder. Jean looked up, surprised, shaken out of his shocked stupor by the unusually gentle act. Levi smiled sadly, and said, “Believe in him. He'll come back to you. His love for you tethers him to earth. He'll be fine.”

Then he left, and Jean was alone with the silence.

He spent most of his days in the Infirmary, watching as most of the patients in Marco's room died and were carted off, heard the doctors remarking that Marco was a miracle, that his wounds should have killed him off a few days after he was brought in. And Jean kept hoping, grabbing on the ever-thinning line that seemed to be slipping from between his fingers. 

He began filling the silence with words, telling him what had happened in the months that he was gone, recounting tales from his childhood, stuttering out words of love from between sobs. Slowly, the gash on his face closed up, and the colour slowly returned to his cheeks, and the doctor's began removing most of his bandages, because his wounds were closing up, but still Marco slept. All their friends came to visit, and Marie snuck out of her house whenever she could to see him, gripping his good hand and willing herself not to cry. Their support and love gave Jean strength and renewed hope, but when he was halfway through the second month after the battle, and Marco still hadn't awoken, he lost it. By now, the room had completely emptied out, so the screams of anguish that poured out of his mouth didn't bother anyone, but simply reverberated in the always-present silence, Jean's constant companion for one and a half months. He cursed Marco, and himself, and God and everything in between, and when he ran out of breath he slumped over Marco's bed, and, having utterly exhausted himself, fell into a fitful sleep. 

He woke up to feel fingers stroking his hair, running through the tangles and smoothing them out. He thought, foggily, Is is mother? Is mother here? Then he realised that he was alone. Alone...with Marco.

His head slowly lifted from the sheets, and he looked up, meeting Marco's single eye, which was staring at him, full of life.

“My Jean. My beautiful Jean.” His voice was rusty and cracked, but it shone with life, and slowly, Jean could feel that life enter his bloodstream, making his heart burst into life after so long. Marco's voice cracked with his next words. “I'm so sorry.”

Jean wanted to cry, but his tears had run out, so instead he smiled, for the first time in one and a half months. “Welcome back, sweetheart. I missed you.”

And then, carefully manoeuvring between bandages and injuries, he kissed him, and confirmed that yes, Marco was, in fact, alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see he's not dEAD how could i kILL HIM   
> i gave them all pretty canon injuries (so slight spoiler for anyone who hasn't read al of the manga) except Connie, and you know, Marco, who, you know dIED
> 
> see im nice
> 
> okay
> 
> thanks for still supporting me even though i walked over your poor shipper hearts with my high heels (i cant even walk on high heels what am i saying)
> 
> bye
> 
> claire xxxxx  
> (has anyone realised how my end notes have degenerated as the chapters went by)


	17. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after
> 
> bet you didn't get that from the chapter title eh

Marco spent another two weeks in the Infirmary after having regained consciousness before he was released. Jean still found it disconcerting looking at his face to see a large eye-patch covering the space where his right eye used to be. Marco joked about it a lot, but sometimes, when he thought Jean was distracted, his face would drop, and he would finger the patch sadly. It broke Jean's heart to see him so sad, and he vowed that he would return the light that had faded from Marco's eyes.

Although he was released, Marco's psychological wounds still haunted him. He would often wake up at night, breathing heavily, and when Jean would place his hands on his chest to soothe him, he'd feel his heart racing at unnatural speeds. Jean would whisper soothing words to Marco, and when he got more used to the scars that decorated Marco's torso, he'd kiss them, along with the freckles, tenderly trying to pull Marco back from the darkness of memory. 

It took months for Marco to fully regain his strength back. They both had grown so much in that time period. Jean was eighteen now, and Marco was nearing his twentieth birthday. He'd grown used to seeing the world with one eye, and had become proud of his scars; a visible reminder of what could have killed him, but had failed. His nightmares had gotten much less frequent, and the dark circles that had developed beneath his eyes during the rough nights had almost completely disappeared. And to Jean's relief, his happiness had started to seep back in, and the light that used to shine out of his eyes had started to kindle again. And Jean never tired of surprising Marco, hoping that every little smile Marco cracked would lead him a step forward to returning to who he had once been.

In the end, Marco could never become what he had once been. War changes people. The things he'd witnessed and the harsh reality he'd experienced were things that would still wake him up at night occasionally, but they were also things that made him grow and mature in a way that he'd never have dreamed of. He grew to realise that life was precious, and that every moment could be his last. 

On that day, Marco was at the shop, staring at Levi while the smaller man glared in turn at the customers pouring in the shop. Hanji had forbidden Marco to work yet, stating that he needed rest and whatnot. However, she was still paying him, claiming that he needed the money still. Marco had protested against this, but Hanji had glared him into silence, and they'd never brought up the subject again.

Jean walked in the shop at that moment. Levi half-raised his hand in greeting, and waved in the general direction of Marco. Jean walked straight up to Marco while Marco continued staring into thin air, too absorbed in thoughts to even realise that Jean had walked in. Jean smiled, waving his fingers in front of Marco's eye. Marco blinked, and saw Jean for the first time.

“Jean--!”

“Morning, sweetheart. I came to kidnap you and take you away.”

Marco laughed, and took Jean's hand as he stood up, limping slightly on his right leg. Unseen by both of them, lost as they were in their own world, Levi observed them, leaning against the counter, ignoring completely the single old lady currently complaining to him about the weather. His mouth curved into the slightest of smiles, and he shook his head, remembering when he, too, had been their age. 

Jean led Marco out of town, arms linked together, taking the scenic path back home. The little house Marco had bought had become their little house. Jean's mother had cried when Jean had told her he was moving out, but his father had patted him on the back and had told him he was proud of him. Jean may have teared up a little there. Maybe.

They'd rescued a puppy around the first week of moving in, a Golden Retriever, and named him Polo. That was Jean's ingenious idea, and Marco, after rolling his eyes at least twenty times in the space of five minutes, and laughing discreetly behind his hand so that Jean wouldn't see that he was, in fact, impressed, and quite frankly, delighted, agreed on the name. The kitten followed soon after. That was Marco's doing. It apparently “spoke to him” with its eyes and he “simply had to” bring her home. Marco named her Genevieve, much to Jean's confusion. The tiny black fur-ball took an almost immediate dislike towards Jean, and hissed whenever he stepped in a radius of even a metre from where she would be laying. Gen reminded Jean incessantly of someone, but he never quite figured it out. Gen became great friends with Fury, on whom she used to fall asleep. The horse seemed to like her, though you could never really tell when it came to Fury, as all he did was eat, poo, and snort. 

They arrived home, and Polo threw himself at the door, barking as loud as his little puppy voice could, which wasn't much. Gen slept on, only twitching her ear to acknowledge their return. She woke up soon enough when Polo accidentally tripped over his own tiny feet and landed on her, at which point she sprang out her claws and flattened her ears. Jean sighed while Marco's laughter echoed in the room as they moved to separate the terrified dog from the annoyed feline. They managed somehow, and Jean sat down on the nearby couch, trying to calm Gen down, which was, unsurprisingly, failing.

As he was trying to avoid the flailing claws, Jean happened to peer out of the window, and saw that the early spring sun had been covered by grey clouds. “Look, Marco, it's going to rain.”

“What?! I just—I just took out the laundry!” 

Fuming, Marco raced out, just as the first fat drops of rain started falling. Sighing, Jean got up to help him, yelling at him not to strain himself, Marco arguing that he was fine, and that there was no need to fuss. 

And then as they were frantically trying to gather up the clothes, their hands brushed against each other. And it was as if all the years they spent together vanished, and all their hardships melted away, and they were back to that first ball, where they'd met each other for the first time, and the second ball, where they'd danced alone, in the garden, under the stars. Marco blushed as Jean bowed slightly, and said, in the cheesiest voice he could muster, “Shall we dance, milord?”  
Marco glanced at the sodden, forlorn pile of clothes, and then relented. He took the proffered hand and said, “We shall, sire. I'm all yours.”

They waltzed around the yard, their hair sticking to their foreheads, their clothes hanging off them heavily, their smiles huge, hearing the music from that night that changed their life, so long ago. Polo danced between their feet, yapping and wagging his tail, while Gen glared at them from where she was laying on the windowsill, licking her paws delicately.

“I've always wanted to dance in the rain,” stated Marco breathlessly, with his face tilted upwards and his eyes closed, relishing in the feeling of the cool rain hitting his flushed face.

“You're such a romantic,” scoffed Jean, even though he knew he'd wanted this just as much as Marco.

“I've always wanted to do this, too,” continued Marco, looking down at Jean as he leaned in closer to kiss Jean on the lips. He tasted of rain and spring and hope, laughter and happiness, and Jean smiled into the kiss, and he knew that from all the futures he could have chosen, this one had been the least probable, but he would give his life to experience it again, and again, and again, forever.

He was happy.

“I love you, Marco. I'll never stop saying that. Ever.”

“I love you too. More than anything.”

Polo suddenly howled, the voice tinny and pleading. Marco's eye widened, and Jean burst out laughing,watching as Marco's freckles crinkled into the smile that made Jean's heart ache. They broke apart, Jean picking up the sodden, attention-seeking puppy while Marco ruefully picked up the laundry that they'd completely forgotten about.

They walked into the house, and Jean turned to Marco as a sudden idea came to him.

“I'm taking a bath. Care to join?”

Marco pretended to consider this, then grinned menacingly. Jean shivered, but not from the cold. Marco carelessly placed the laundry on the kitchen table while Jean dropped Polo unceremoniously in his box, Gen jumping off the sill and curling up against the dog in a rare act of friendship. 

And this time, Marco made sure to lock the door behind them.

A few months after Marco was released, Marie got married. Marco walked her down the aisle, seeing as Mr Bodt was completely against the marriage and would not hear of anything that had to do with it. Jean shed a few manly tears, seeing her walk past him, her eyes shining. When they landed briefly on his, they lit up brighter still, and she mouthed 'Thank you', although it was he himself that owed her a million 'Thank you's', because if it wasn't for her sacrifice and bravery, he wouldn't have known what true love and happiness meant.

Four years later, Marco and Jean often babysat her twin toddlers and watched over them as they rampaged around like they owned the place. Polo was a very hyper adult dog with the tendency of reverting back to puppy-hood every three seconds. Gen, who had grown fatter and lazier, acquired the hobby of scratching every single piece of furniture she found. The twins thought this was hilarious. Marco did not. Jean had no comment to spare.

It was soon after Connie and Sasha's wedding (a small affair between close family and friends, but the food was amazing) that Armin left the town. He wanted to journey the world, and maybe meet someone that could one day return the love that he had in his heart. Jean was quite sad to see him go, even though they never were the best of friends. Eren, although still oblivious as fuck, had cried at the parting, and Armin had almost changed his mind. Jean often thought about him, and wondered whether he'd ever found his soul-mate.

The twins, now aged seven, had become extremely attached to their uncles. Around this period, Jean began realising how good Marco was with children. Mulling this over one night, he saw that there was only one option left for them now, only one more journey to experience together. 

And so as Jean grinned smugly up at Marco from where he was kneeling on the ground, relishing the look of complete surprise and joy in Marco's face, the new, unexplored path they had left to explore presented itself in one single line, spoken unwaveringly:

“Marry me, sweetheart?”

Marco flicked Jean's ear affectionately and said, with a voice constricted with emotion, “You dork. Isn't that obvious?

“Yes. Yes I will, Jean Kirchstein.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks goes to my chemical romance for getting me through this chapter
> 
> This fic has come to an end, my friends. just the epilogue to go. before i leave you, id like to tell you that if u have any fanart or whatever and would like me to see it in which case id cry with joy, leave it on tumblr with the tag #thefullmidgetalchemist
> 
> and yes for anyone who is wondering Polo is Erwin and Genevieve is Levi.
> 
> thanks to OverMyFreckledBody for beta-ing this chapter coz i was too tired to see the mistakes ahahaha
> 
> i'm gonna get real serious now
> 
> Thank you all for this wonderful support and feedback, and I hope that this fic will stay around, to fill you all with immeasurable angst xxxxx
> 
> till the next chapter
> 
> claire xxxxxxx


	18. To Love and To Be In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of all things
> 
> that sounds fatalistic whoa

Jean woke up as he felt a sudden weight on his chest. He looked down blearily at the disruption, raising his hand to rub his eyes. The small face staring up at him smiled, a full gap-toothed grin that made Jean's heart melt. The little girl buried her face in Jean's chest, screaming 'Dada!' a hint too loudly for such an early hour. Next to him, Marco groaned, turning round, still asleep. The girl, whose name was Alicia, batted away the two masses of fur that were curled up between Jean and Marco, immediately causing a riot as Gen lunged at Polo, who had nothing to do with the commotion in the first place.

Marco finally opened his eyes, running both hands over his face as he tried to shake off the sleep that still clung to his lashes. Alicia rolled over and landed on Marco's stomach, emitting an 'oof' of pain from her father, who slipped his arms around the little girl, pulling her sharp little elbows off his stomach. He gripped her securely from her sides and lifted her above him, laughing as she squealed, caught between excitement and panic, kicking with her chubby little legs . Jean watched them both, laughing, trying not to swallow the airborne fur that Gen constantly threw off. He often wondered how she still had fur actually attached to her. He looked at the cat and found her on her back, Polo's face lying on her stomach, both of them asleep. It creeped him out a bit how they could fall asleep that quickly. 

Marco carefully lowered Alicia back on the bed, wincing as her knees dug into his intestines. “Okay, now who wants breakfast?”

“Me!!” shouted Alicia enthusiastically, at an ear-shattering volume. She ran off, both animals waking up and running out after her. Jean and Marco were, for a brief moment, alone.

“Guess what today is?” Jean said teasingly, as he reached out to stroke Marco's cheek. 

“Isn't it two years since the best day of my life?” Marco said, grinning, scrunching his nose when Jean tapped it, having muttered about how cheesy Marco was before leaning in and kissing him.

They were interrupted by the return of the dog, who jumped on the bed and licked their faces, prompting a simultaneous plea for Polo to “Can you please GET OUT you stupid dog”, and after he did precisely that, his tail tucked between his hind-legs, Jean turned back to Marco, who moved closer to him, trying to steal his warmth. “D'you remember how your hands shook so much you dropped the rings?”

Marco flushed all the way up to the tips of his ears, remembering that particular incident with vivid clarity, remembering in particular the peals of laughter that followed from the few friends they'd invited for their wedding ceremony. He remembered everything from that day, and as he lay there, in the warmth and safety of Jean's arms, he drifted off into sleep again, as the events of that day unfolded again in his memory.

\--  
Two years earlier

Marco woke up suddenly, disoriented. The bed felt empty, and he remembered that Jean had left the previous day to spend one last night at his mother's house. Marco felt a small pang in his chest when he remembered. He missed his dad more than he cared to admit. He stood up, drowsily, and came face-to-face with his neatest suit, which was hanging from the wardrobe. And it suddenly dawned on him that today was his wedding day.

His hands began to shake immediately, and he ran them through his hair several times, trying to calm himself down. He had to remind himself several times that it wasn't his execution day, although the way his insides were gleefully knotting themselves up begged him to differ. He had just sat himself at the dinner table, stirring a cup of tea and staring at the liquid as it swirled around the cup, when the front door was buffeted with a volley of knocks. He got up, puzzled, and went to open the door. He barely made it out of the way before he was almost flattened by Sasha barging in, dragging Connie behind her. Mikasa walked in behind them, smiling apologetically at Marco and gently closing the door behind her. The noises reverberating from the kitchen drew Marco's attention away from Mikasa, at whom he'd been staring confusedly, and when he went to investigate, he found Connie holding a struggling Sasha away from the pantry. Marco didn't know what was the strangest – the abnormal sight in the kitchen, the fact that Mikasa had sat down on the pristine dinner table and was looking around her bemusedly, or the fact that half of their friends were currently crowded in his kitchen. He shook his head to clear it, and asked, over the din, “Em...what exactly are you doing here?”

Sasha stopped struggling and said, brightly, “To help you get ready, of course!” Then she added, “Do you have potatoes? I'm really craving potatoes right now.”

Marco glanced at Connie, who answered the unspoken question by muttering, “Perks of pregnancy.”

After presenting Sasha with as many boiled potatoes as her heart desired, she followed him upstairs to his bedroom, Mikasa trailing after them. Connie stayed in the kitchen, promising to clean up the mess Sasha had left behind her.

In a bit less than an hour, Marco was ready. Mikasa had done his hair, which was apparently the reason why Sasha had dragged her along. She was now straightening the flower pinned to the lapel of his blazer, smoothing the blazer's shoulders and fussing with the handkerchief sticking out of the breast pocket. Marco stared at himself in the mirror, not quite recognising himself in the reflection. The butterflies in his stomach that had been forgotten in the rush to get ready suddenly returned, this time in larger numbers. Mikasa noticed the wince that he tried to cover, and , unexpectedly, spoke. “Relax. Breathe in deeply, and remember, it is only a day were you can get closer to the one you love. Something you've been waiting for for a while, I'm sure.”

Marco followed her advice, and surprisingly, it worked. He smiled at her gratefully, and then it was time to leave. 

They had to travel quite a way to reach the town were Erwin had told to go, but they arrived sooner than Marco had expected. Erwin and Levi were already there, Levi's black hair sprinkled with white, lost in a conversation that seemed to have taken them back to the year they themselves had stood outside that same room. Erwin was talking animatedly, and Levi was smiling gently, his hand held firmly in Erwin's larger one. Sasha was beaming at Marco, who was feeling his legs slowly give way. Even Eren was there, standing stiffly next to Mikasa, looking slightly out of place. And then Jean arrived with his parents, and not a moment too soon, because Marco was on the verge of completely losing it. But when Jean stepped out of the ordinary carriage, his parents following suit, Marco's nerves suddenly left him. Why had he been so worried? This was what their love had led them to, and he would be mocking it if he allowed his fear to win over. So he stretched out a hand, and in the expectant silence that had fallen, Jean crossed the distance between them and slipped his fingers through Marco's, fitting them together, and stood by his side, whispering, “Ready when you are.”

Marco steeled himself, and whispered back, “Let's go.”

And that's how Marco Bodt and Jean Kirchstein stopped being two people, and became one.

\--  
Present Time

Marco woke up again to the press of Jean's lips on his forehead. “Our hungry children are making quite a ruckus in the kitchen.”

Marco strained his ears to hear, and sure enough, he could distinctly make out Alicia's screaming and Gen's yowling meows. “We'd better go.”

When they reached the kitchen, Marco took the lead, grabbing tiny Alicia and lifting her of her feet, resting her at his hip, and manoeuvring his way expertly through the kitchen, feeding the pets first, and then preparing breakfast for all of them. Jean tried to help, but Marco gently steered him to his chair and told him to stay put, and the look in his eye reminded Jean what exactly had happened when he'd tried helping in the kitchen. He took Alicia from Marco and kept her amused by the constant stream of teasing he directed at Marco. Alicia was laughing hard, and Jean remembered how it was her smile and laugh that had charmed them so much that they decided to adopt her, a year into their marriage. She'd already been three when she joined their family, and now her fourth birthday was approaching swiftly. 

As he looked at Marco's back as he worked, he couldn't help but wonder if this was all a dream. But then he remembered the hardships they'd suffered to reach this blissful point in life, and all the friends that had boosted them onwards in their journey to reach the summit, and realised that this was better than a dream. So many things could have been different, maybe better, maybe worse, but Jean would never have traded anything for this. This is were he belonged, here with his crazy little daughter, his grumpy cat that brought vague recollections of someone he couldn't quite picture, his overly hyper dog, and his beloved Marco, who turned to him at that moment with a smile on his lips that scrunched his freckles on his cheeks.

And Jean couldn't help but place Alicia on the table and stand up, and place a kiss on those freckles, and remembered that, if it hadn't been for the events that had happened in a few nights, so long ago, he wouldn't be kissing his husband's cheek in broad daylight, without any shame or fear.

And then Gen threw up a hairball and the moment of philosophical realisation Jean was experiencing was ruined.

In the years to come, their bravery and love would make them a beacon of hope for people like them, and thanks to their hard work, the village will slowly become a safe haven for all kinds of people. The dedication they will both show will earn them the respect of many people, and after their deaths, many years after, their daughter Alicia will often be stopped by people who, with tears in their eyes, will tell stories of how her fathers had helped them in some way or another.

And then Alicia will walk all the way to the cemetery, and stare at the tombstone on which her parents' names are engraved, and she will tell them, with a slight crack in her voice as the tears pooled behind her closed lashes, “You wouldn't believe what I've heard about you today.”

But for now, in the cacophony of the kitchen, with the light streaming in through the window and a brand new day dawning outside, in the simplicity of their love, Jean smiled at Marco, and everything seemed right in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here, at last, come the end of this fic.
> 
> i did not just quote gandalf.
> 
> thank you all for your ongoing support, and thanks goes especially to OverMyFreckledBody, who managed to keep me 'sane', and sorta-out-there, without whom I would never have started this fic. Thank you to you, my readers, and to my desk, which supported me every time I slammed my head against it for inspiration. Thank you xxxxxxxx
> 
> for any eruri fans out there, you can always read the prequel to this. first chapter is up already :) STICK AROUND FOR THE ONE SHOTS I'LL WRITE REGARDING THIS FIC 
> 
> bye
> 
> Claire xxxxxxx


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